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esote-rika · 14 days ago

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Red is Your Color | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI

Summary: You just committed perhaps the most atrocious wrongly sent message ever. By some trick of nature, your coworker is more than willing to play along. (This is from @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient prompt list. Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker; check out her prompts, they're really fun!)

Content: softdom!spencer, fingering, multiple orgasms (female receiving), p in v, creampie, reader is on the pill, Spencer calls reader a naughty girl and pretty girl, tenderness and lots of checking in, vaguely Christmas themed.

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: I read something really poetic and profound yesterday and it inspired me to write, but my mind was in the gutter, so this happened. lmfao happy holidays. UNEDITED, I wrote this at 2 in the morning T.T

Do you think Santa would bend me over and punish me?

Spencer Reid was almost too scared to even open the following messages—he’d already made the mistake of opening this one. And there was a barrage of them, sent a few minutes after the very first one, in quick succession, one right after the other. His phone buzzed and buzzed, matching the distracting hum in his brain at the moment. He should probably read the next messages, because surely, surely those contain the explanation to this one.

Unfortunately, his eyes were glued on this first one—it seemed like it was the only one that contained a picture, after all, and what was that they said about a picture saying a thousand words?

What could it mean then, this picture his coworker had sent to him? What did it mean that he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it? (What did it imply if he didn’t want to? That he liked the picture? That it made his pants uncomfortably tighter?)

He stared at the picture, his eyes greedily taking every inch of smooth skin exposed by the short, strapless sexy Santa dress his coworker was wearing. It wasn’t explicit—she was fully dressed, after all, but the caption, paired with the way she had been posed… Sitting on what he presumed was her bathroom counter, her legs artfully crossed, the fabric of the dress hiked up to reveal long, luscious thighs. With her pursed lips painted crimson, it was obvious what the message was meant to imply and Spencer felt his mouth grow dry. He shifted on his seat, both hands gripping his phone because he didn’t trust them not to wander down, to give himself relief.

No, he should not be jerking off to his coworker. He shouldn’t even be fucking looking at this photo. He should delete it, call Penelope and ask her to rewire his cloud or memory or data or whatever it was called. Just to get rid of it from his phone. That would be the decent thing to do, and Spencer had always prided himself on being a gentleman.

He knew that would be futile; knew his mind would be treacherous and have the image of her with those supple thighs, and red mouth in his dreams, his nightmares, in every fantasy—

His phone was ringing.

He stared at it, wondering how she was sending so many messages so quickly, before he realized that she wasn’t texting anymore.

She was calling.

His thumb found the answer button without his consent. The next thing he knew, her voice was pouring from his phone’s speaker. Soft. Contrite. Embarrassed. He frowned. What on earth was she embarrassed about, he wondered. She, who looked stunning, who looked good enough to be worshipped—

“—Please say something, Spence.” she was saying, pleading, and something in his gut clenched. That nickname, coming from her lips. That nickname, coming from her lips, while she was wearing that dress.

“Spence—”

“It’s all right,” his voice was strangled. He cleared his throat, “It’s all right. I’ve deleted it.” Lie, what a liar, she deserved better than hastily told lies.

“Okay,” she sighed, relief palpable even without seeing her face to face, “I just didn’t want to get in trouble with HR, on top of everything.”

HR. He almost laughed. They wouldn’t care (unless someone blabbed, like what happened with Derek and Penelope, but he would never do that to her, not in a million years.)

“You wouldn’t, I promise… it wasn’t even that explicit, if I’m being honest.” he heard himself say. He rubbed his eyes in frustration—why did he have to add that?

Her laughter floats from the phone, nervous and low. “I guess not. I wasn’t about to send a complete nude to my friends.”

He straightened up, confused. “Your friends?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice still wavering nervously, “Like I said in my texts, it was wrongly sent to you, I was talking to my friends.”

In other words, it wasn’t for him. He would have known that, had he opened her texts, had he not been too busy ogling the picture she had mistakenly sent, the picture that wasn’t even for him. Something unpleasant burned in his chest, but he ignored it in favor of the curiosity that lingered.

“You send explicit pictures to your friends?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that explicit,” she chuckled, “But, uh, yeah I do… I dunno, maybe that’s weird, but we were joking around.”

That was something new he learned today. That friends could casually send sexually charged photos to each other. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “So you don’t actually want to be bent over and punished?”

Dear heavens, sometimes he understood why his teammates gave him weird looks. If he had a mirror, he would give himself a weird look. Still, he held his breath for her answer, surprised by the wave of disappointment at the thought of her saying no, it was just a silly text.

The pause grew between them, and Spencer was almost about to apologize, when she spoke again.

“I mean, if someone were willing to do it…”

He swallowed. His pants felt tight once again, and he had to force himself to take deep breaths. This was not an invitation, he thought, she had not asked him, she was not saying if you wanted to do it (which, he does, desperately so.)

“Right.” he managed to croak. Another pause, as if she was contemplating.

“Spencer,” she was whispering now, “Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“How fast can you get here?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

You’re not sure what possessed you into inviting your coworker over, but you did. And now, you’re sitting in your living room, in that blasted sexy Santa dress, panic texting your friends about it. He had said fifteen minutes. Eight minutes had gone by, and you knew he would fulfill his promise. He would be here in seven minutes.

Perhaps you weren’t expecting him to agree. Your perception of Spencer Reid has always been of a sweet genius, wholly brilliant and too preoccupied with academics to even give a second thought to sex and romance. He was a germaphobe, for crying out loud, you had thought it would make him have some sort of aversion to the inevitable sticky, sweaty mess of two bodies coming together.

But you’d heard it in his voice. Strained, low, and riddled with desire.

So you had mustered enough courage to ask. And now—

Your doorbell cut through your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your phone into a drawer, not wanting to see the offensive piece of technology for the rest of the night. You looked out through the peephole, and there he was, still in his office clothes. Tall, and slender, and dishevelled and yours for the night.

You pulled the door open, ignoring the heavy thump in your chest.

He smiled. “Hi.”

“You’re early.” You teased, standing aside to let him in. His eyes were glued to you, pupils dilating as he took you in.

“You’re still wearing the dress.”

Right. Once you had realized you sent the text to Spencer instead of your friends, you had spent the next several minutes in agonizing anxiety, sending text after text to Spencer in an effort to explain. In your utter mortification, you had forgotten to change out of it.

He seemed to like that. It gave you enough confidence to surge forward, blindly, recklessly.

“I am.” You said, red lips tugging into a smile you reserved for handsome strangers at a bar. You lowered your voice, just enough for the next words to come out breathless, “Honestly, it’s a little itchy.”

“Is it?” He stepped forward, crowding you into the door. It creaks as it moves with your weight, the knob clicking in place. He reached forward, and you held your breath, anticipating his hands on you, gently running over your skin, but instead they closed over the doorknob, locking it. He didn’t miss your reaction, though, his eyes a glittering night sky of sweet, utter want. “Maybe I can help you with it.”

You nodded, mouth parted in silence, whatever words you wanted to say have died in your throat.

He brought his hand up, caressing your jaw, and you marvelled at how large his hands are, long fingers reaching the nape of your neck. “Red is your color.” he murmured, before leaning in to capture your lips.

His lips were cold and chapped, and you returned his kiss eagerly in an attempt to warm them. Your mouth opens at one swipe of his tongue, moaning as he leans his whole body into you, pushing you harder against the door. Tonight, you learned that Spencer Reid, the sweet, unassuming genius, kisses like he wants to crawl into you. It’s a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth, and a whimper escaped your mouth as he bit your lower lip.

“Too much?” he asked, pulling away for a moment.

As an answer, you wrapped your hands around his neck, and returned the fervor of his kisses. You heard him chuckle, felt it on your own tongue as it happened and it made your knees buckle from sheer want.

His arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up into his embrace. You felt him move, stumbling across your apartment before setting you down again. The blunt edge of a drawer hit your lower back, just as he pulled away.

A whine left your lips. You didn’t know if it was from the pain, or the loss of his kiss.

“Turn around, darling.” he murmured, but your brain was so damn distracted you just stared at him blankly. He grinned, hands at your hips gently maneuvering you to face away from him. “You said you wanted to be bent over.”

Chills went down your spine as he pushed you forward, elbows landing on the smooth, wooden desk.

“Y-yeah, I did say that.” you managed to reply. This time, the breathless quality in your voice was not an affectation. You felt his nose on your neck, pushing away the stray locks of hair, before his mouth landed over the skin, open and wet, traversing the expanse of your flesh with reckless ardor. You moaned, craning your head back in a wordless plea for more.

You felt teeth, the sting of it clamping over your flesh. You didn’t even realize you’d yelped until he stopped.

“Sorry,” he whispered, soothing the bite with his kisses.

“It’s okay,” You replied, one hand reaching up, running through his hair. “Do it again.”

The rumble of his laughter made your stomach warm. He sunk his teeth into your neck again, sucked at the spot he bit, and you would have face planted into the desk had it not been for his hands holding you up.

“You’re a naughty girl,” he purred against your skin, “Aren’t you? Sending that picture to me, I bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

“It was,” you protested, but then he grinds his crotch into your ass and any indignation was stifled by the feeling of how damn hard he was. “It was - I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to make me this hard?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, “I think you knew exactly what you were doing, naughty girl.” Before you could answer, you felt something digging into your ass. He was tugging at your panties. To the side, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to strip it off of you.

It was hot as all hell.

“My god, you’re absolutely soaked for me.” he groaned into your ear, and you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers ran through your cunt. Somehow, his fingers have remained cold, and the sensation sent a shudder down your spine.

“S-Spencer,” you whined, knuckles finding leverage at the edge of the desk you’ve been sprawled over.

“Mhm? What is it, darling?”

“M-more.”

His laughter filled the room once again, “And I thought I was being needy.” he said, but he obliged your request easily, slipping two fingers into your pussy. His breath fanned over the overheated skin of your neck as he buried his face against your shoulder, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you moved your hips against his hand, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. You’d never enjoyed this by yourself; your own fingers were thin, too short to cause any sort of pleasure when you touched yourself. But Spencer’s hands were large, his fingers long and elegant and perfect. They curled inside you, hitting a spot you’ve never been able to with your own hands, and you cried “Oh, fuck yes!”

It was everything. Quite literally. His arm was holding you against him, his body a solid, lean mass behind you, pressing into the slopes of your own, digging in wherever your softness yields to his hard angles. You moaned and moaned again, as his fingers quickened, as his thumb found your clit and rubbed fast circles until your arms gave out and your entire upper half was splayed on the desk.

He didn’t stop, cooing soft words into your ear, his tongue and lips and teeth a whole other dangerous territory of its own. You knew you would have hickeys tomorrow. You knew the team would ask questions. You didn’t particularly care.

“Can you take more?” he asked, and you nodded, eager to take whatever he was going to give. A third finger slid into your dripping cunt, stretching you in ways you haven’t felt in a long time and you groaned, head buried in your arms. He paused, his other hand rubbing circles on your hip, “Are you all right, darling?”

“Yes.” you sobbed, and you knew he wouldn’t believe you because you sounded sad, and everything that Spencer has done up until this point proved that, despite it all, he cared.

“You can tell me if it’s too much, you know.” he murmured. His lips laved featherlight kisses along your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, bucking your hips. The idea of being slightly incoherent from the pleasure he’s been giving you was a little too enticing, and you were in no mood to stop, “Please.”

“Okay,” he resumed his ministrations, slower this time, dragging his fingers in and out of you with a precise rhythm, now that he’s figured out your weak spots. “You are so pretty like this, darling. Dress hiked up, your lipstick smudged.”

A mewl came out of your throat, and you would have been embarrassed if you still had the presence of mind to feel an ounce of shame. He coaxed a second orgasm from you, and you marveled at the fact that he could elicit responses like these with just his fingers. It seemed unfair, but a large part of you reveled in it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowly pulling his fingers out, “That’s my pretty girl.”

You lifted your head from your arms. The sight that welcomes you is a blurry one, impeded by the clumpy eyelashes and messy tears that had gathered in your eyes. You knew you looked a mess, far from the pretty girl he kept repeating, but you ate up the praise all the same.

As if by their own accord, your hips move back, grinding into his erection. You wanted more. You wanted him to be in the same daze you were in right now, wanted to be one. “Spencer,” you whined, and he laughed, and you wondered if it was possible to get drunk off of a sound.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he replied, playfully chastising, but the sound of his belt buckle reached your ears and you grinned.

“Just wanna make sure you get something too.” you mumbled.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I had forgotten a condom?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, bracing yourself on your elbows again, and looking over his shoulder.

“Wow, isn’t your whole thing the complete opposite of forgetting?”

“I was a little distracted.” he said, his smile sheepish.

“I don’t mind,” you replied, “I’m on the pill.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mhm-hmm.” You nodded, one arm moving and blindly grasping for the zipper of your Santa dress. His hand gently encircled your wrist, placing it back on the desk.

“It stays on,” he said, as the blunt tip of his cock pushed past your pussy, “I told you, red is your color.”

Your mouth dropped open as he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust, and wordless expression of pleasure. He had spent a large chunk of time fucking you with his fingers, and the necessity of it dawned upon you now.

He was big.

The stretch made you groan, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy fluttered around him. He pressed his body over yours, pushing you into the desk as he began to rock, in and out of you. Involuntarily, you clenched around him, earning a sharp hiss.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, holding you tightly around the waist with one arm. The other went to the desk, steadying himself as he found a rhythm that made you writhe beneath him, “Oh god, yes.”

You couldn’t even respond, your body moving on autopilot, meeting his every thrust with your hips. The sounds your bodies made were obscene, wet, sloppy noises of flesh meeting flesh. It filled your head, made you dizzy with pleasure.

“Spencer,” at this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve repeated his name. The world has anchored all meaning to that one sound, and you said it, over and over again, “Spencer.”

“Mhm,” he responded by snapping his hips, pushing his cock so deep into your toes curl, “That’s it, darling, say my name.”

“Spencer,” you said in your broken voice, every repetition turning higher and higher in pitch, and it seemed like the higher your voice went, the harder he fucked you. Your desk banged against the wall from his rough thrusts, joining the cacophony of sounds from your coupling.

His pace grew rougher, faster, his grip on you reaching the point of painful and bruising, but it made your head spin in the most delicious way possible. You clenched around him, squeezing his cock in an attempt to find your peak, and instead initiating his.

“Fuck—” he groaned, as his load exploded inside you, somehow filling you even more, and you dropped your head to the desk again as your own body shuddered with release.

Panting, and exhausted, you both stayed there, bent over the desk half upright, like a tower about to topple. He kissed the back of your neck as you fought to catch your breath. Looking over your shoulder, the sight of him fills your vision, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, his lips smudged with your lipstick, and you couldn’t help but think that red is his color too.

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rizzanon · 28 days ago

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01 | SIXTEEN AGAIN

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Your breath hitched, and your phone slipped from your trembling fingers, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

Four years ago.

The date burned in your mind like a cruel joke. It couldn’t be real. It shouldn’t be real. But the reflection staring back at you, the unfamiliar-yet-familiar state of your room, and the unscarred body you now wore told you otherwise.

This was real.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, but the air felt too thick, too suffocating. You sank onto the edge of your bed, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your thoughts spiraled.

What was happening? Was this some kind of hallucination? Were you dead, and this was some twisted afterlife?

You closed your eyes, trying to remember everything that had led up to this moment. The warehouse. The fight with the drug ring members. The blood. And then it hit you.

You died.

There was no questioning it. You felt your heart stop. You felt yourself take your last breath. You remembered the darkness afterwards. The quietness.

Before you heard the alarm.

A noise so mundane, yet so impossibly jarring in the context of your supposed death.

Your heart pounded as new thoughts invaded your mind. If this was real—if you were truly back to being 16—what does this mean?

Was this meant to be a second chance for you?

A second chance?

That was rare.

But a second chance for what exactly? To try again? Another chance to make yourself seen in this godforsaken family? But what use would that be? If you couldn’t do that before, what changes things now?

What exactly could you even fix?

Was it any use to try and see if anything you could change now would make your family acknowledge you?

Your hands tightened into fists as doubt and fear crept in. Four years ago, you were a girl who’d spent every waking moment trying to prove herself. Four years ago, you were still chasing the approval of a family who barely seemed to notice. Four years ago, you were still desperate to find your place, even if it meant destroying yourself in the process.

Did you have to repeat that whole process again? Go through all that pain and disappointment and loneliness all over again?

You shook your head violently, banishing the thought. No. You wouldn’t let that happen. Never again. This time, you’d do things differently. This time, you wouldn’t let yourself go through that again.

Not when that very thing drove you to your death.

You stood up from your bed and when towards your dressing table. Your gaze locked onto your reflection, lingering on your hair. The long, luscious black curls framed your face, a stark reminder of everything you’d endured when you were sixteen. It felt foreign, almost like you were looking at someone else entirely. Back then, your hair had been a source of pride—something you nurtured and refused to cut because you wanted it to grow naturally, to be perfect.

But now, seeing it again after everything you’d been through, it didn’t feel like pride. It felt like a symbol of the girl you used to be. A girl who sought validation in all the wrong places. A girl who let the weight of everyone else’s expectations crush her.

Without hesitation, you reached for the pair of scissors on your desk. You picked them up, holding them firmly in your hand. For a moment, you hesitated, the memories of your past self flashing through your mind. Then, with a sharp breath, you snipped.

The first lock of hair fell to the floor, and you kept going, cutting away the length of your curls until your hair rested just below your shoulders. It was a bit uneven, messy, and far from perfect—but that didn’t matter. The act itself felt liberating, like shedding a layer of skin that didn’t belong to you anymore.

When you finally put the scissors down, you stared at your reflection. You barely recognized the person staring back at you, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t mind.

This was you. A new you. A girl who wasn’t going to live her life chasing after her family’s approval. A girl who wasn’t going to let herself spiral into loneliness and despair again.

You swore, in that moment, that you’d do things differently. This second chance—whatever it was, however it came to be—was yours. You wouldn’t let anyone dictate your worth this time.

This time, you’d live for yourself.

A soft knock at the door startled you from your thoughts. Your heart stilled as a familiar voice reached your ears, a voice you hadn’t heard in so long—a voice you thought you’d never hear again.

“Miss, are you all right? You’ve missed breakfast. I wanted to check on you.”

Your heart began to pound. You stood frozen for a moment before rushing to the door. As you opened it, you felt your breath hitch.

There he was. Alfred Pennyworth. The man who was supposed to be dead.

But he wasn’t. Not here. Not now. Because somehow, you’d been sent back to the past, and he was alive. Standing in front of you, as real as the pounding of your heart.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, your emotions wavering between shock and overwhelming sadness. Was this why you were sent back? Was this your chance to save him?

Alfred’s expression shifted as he took in your freshly cut hair, his usual composure faltering for just a moment.

“You’ve, uh… changed your look,” he said gently, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “May I ask… why?”

You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you lunged forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him. You could feel his body tense under your embrace, likely caught off guard, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go just yet. Damnit, you missed him.

It took Alfred a beat to respond, and even then, his arms came around you tentatively, a silent acknowledgment of the sudden outburst. “Miss,” he began softly, concern lacing his tone, but before he could say more, you pulled back abruptly.

A stray tear had escaped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, offering him a small, shaky smile.

“I just thought it was time for a change,” you replied simply, your voice steadier than you felt.

Alfred’s sharp eyes caught the tear despite your best efforts to hide it. His brow furrowed slightly. “Are you certain you’re all right, Miss?”

You shook your head quickly, forcing your smile to widen. “I’m fine, Alfred. Really.”

He hesitated for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but finally gave a small nod. “Very well, then. Breakfast is waiting for you downstairs.”

You gave him a grateful look and stepped past him, heading downstairs to eat.

As you walked away, Alfred remained rooted in place, watching you. Something was different. He’d seen it in your eyes, in the way you smiled, and in the way you’d hugged him.

He couldn’t place what had shifted, but whatever it was, it wasn’t just another day.

You stepped into the kitchen, the familiar scent of Alfred’s cooking wafting through the air. At the table, you spotted Damian already eating. He was so much younger than you remembered—shorter, his posture not as rigid, but the scowl on his face? Oh, that was exactly the same.

If you were 16, then Damian must be about 11 now. The realization hit you like a wave, and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment, taking in the sight of your youngest brother looking… well, like a kid again.

Unfortunately, he noticed.

Damian’s sharp green eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you pause mid-step. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you like you were an alien that had invaded his space.

Internally, you thought, What the heck is his problem? But you weren’t about to let him get under your skin. Not this time.

You walked over to the table, keeping your composure, and took your seat. Alfred had already set out your plate—classic scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit, just like you remembered from those years.

As you settled into your chair, Damian finally broke the silence.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

You glanced at him briefly but didn’t rise to the bait. “Good morning to you too, Damian,” you replied calmly, picking up your fork.

Damian’s eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his chair, studying you with a scrutinizing gaze. Then he huffed. “It looks stupid.”

That ticked you off. Your grip on the fork tightened momentarily, but you caught yourself before you could snap back. Instead, you took a deep breath and decided to let it go. Without saying a word, you simply started eating your breakfast.

For a split second, you swore you saw Damian flinch, his gaze flicking down to his plate. He let out an annoyed scoff, stabbing his oatmeal with his fork, and mumbled something under his breath.

You couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of triumph. Ignoring him, not letting him get to you was a win, right?

You kept eating, pretending not to notice how Damian kept sneaking glances at you from across the table, his expression unreadable. Whatever he was thinking, you weren’t going to let it bother you.

Not this time.

Damian had been awake long before the sun rose. His mornings were always disciplined: training, meditation, and breakfast—his time to exist without the noise of others. By the time he sat at the table, the house was still and quiet, just the way he preferred it.

Today was no exception. He ate his breakfast in relative peace, each bite of oatmeal and fruit deliberate as he mentally reviewed his plans for the day. That peace, however, shattered the moment you entered the kitchen.

He heard you before he saw you, the soft padding of your steps on the hardwood floor. He didn’t bother looking up at first, expecting to see you shuffling in half-asleep as you often did. But something made him glance up—and that’s when he froze.

Your hair.

It was short. Messy. Uneven in places, as though you’d taken a pair of scissors to it in a fit of frustration. He blinked, staring, his mind working to reconcile this with the version of you he’d seen just yesterday. What the hell happened?

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” he asked sharply, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.

You paused, your eyes flicking to him briefly before responding with infuriating calmness. “Good morning to you too, Damian.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. Normally, you’d snap back with some sarcastic remark. That was how it always went with the two of you—a constant back-and-forth of sharp words. Especially when your father or Grayson wasn’t around to stop you two from bickering. But now? Nothing.

“It looks stupid,” he added, his tone more biting than before.

You didn’t even flinch. Instead, you calmly reached for the plate Alfred had prepared for you, picked up your fork, and started eating.

Damian stared, his expression hardening. What was this? Why weren’t you responding? The silence grated on his nerves in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

His eyes flickered back to your hair. It wasn’t just the fact that it was short—though that was strange enough. It was what the act symbolized. You had always been so particular about your hair, letting it grow long, keeping it neat. He remembered you fussing over it, refusing to cut even the split ends because you wanted it “natural.”

But now? You’d hacked it off like it meant nothing.

Damian’s fingers tapped against the edge of his plate as he studied you. Something was different about you. It wasn’t just the hair. It was the way you carried yourself, the calmness in your demeanor that didn’t belong to the person he remembered.

And it unsettled him.

He hated not understanding things, and right now, you were an enigma. Damian prided himself on being observant, on reading people with precision, but you were throwing him off completely.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, stabbing at his oatmeal with unnecessary force.

Despite himself, his gaze kept flicking back to you. You ate in silence, seemingly unbothered by his presence—or his insults. And for a moment, just a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something in your eyes. Something quiet. Resigned.

Damian scoffed, turning back to his food, but the uneasy feeling lingered.

Whatever had changed in you overnight, it unsettled him more than he cared to admit. You were acting like a stranger, like he didn’t matter, and Damian hated that.

Why did he hate that? He doesn’t know. But what he does know is that he hated not knowing things. And right now, he had no idea what changed about you overnight. Though one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to let it slide. Not until he figured it out.

You shoveled the rest of your breakfast into your mouth as quickly as you could manage, the clock on the wall reminding you just how little time you had. It had been so long since you’d been in school—high school, no less. The thought made your stomach churn.

High school. The one place where whispers and rumors followed you like shadows. Where the weight of your name and the absence of your family’s visible support made you feel like a target. Where every glance, every muttered word, felt like a judgment.

But then, another thought struck you.

High school also meant Adrien and Caitlyn.

Your heart skipped a beat at the realization. Adrien and Caitlyn—your two closest friends, the ones who stuck by you when no one else dared. The ones who had tried so hard to pull you out of your destructive spiral, to get you to stop chasing the approval of a family that seemed indifferent. And how did you repay them? You pushed them away.

You could still remember the way their faces fell when you told them off, accusing them of not understanding you, of not understanding why you needed to prove yourself. The hurt in their eyes, the silence that followed. You hadn’t seen them in years.

But now? Now you had the chance to fix it.

The thought gave you a renewed sense of urgency. You stood, grabbing your bag—or what you thought was your bag. You weren’t even sure if it had everything you needed, but you didn’t care. You just needed to go.

As you rushed down the stairs, Alfred appeared at the base, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Miss, where on Earth are you running off to in such a hurry?”

“School!” you blurted, already moving past him.

“School?” Alfred repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “Miss, if you insist on going, at least allow me to—”

“No time!” you called over your shoulder, pushing open the front door. “I’ll take the bus!”

“The bus? Miss—”

But you didn’t wait to hear the rest of his protests. You bolted down the driveway, your bag bouncing against your back as you ran. The crisp morning air stung your lungs, but you didn’t care.

You had to catch the bus.

You had to see them.

The thought of Adrien and Caitlyn waiting at the school, of their familiar faces, of the chance to mend what you’d broken—it filled you with equal parts hope and fear. What if they didn’t forgive you? What if they’d moved on?

No. You couldn’t let yourself think that way.

This was your second chance.

A chance to make things right.

You reached the bus stop just in time, your breath coming in short gasps as the vehicle pulled up. The doors hissed open, and you stepped inside, your mind racing faster than your feet had moments ago.

For years, you had regretted the way things ended with them. Now, you had the chance to fix it. You just had to find the courage to do it.

You fumbled in your skirt pocket, fingers brushing against a few spare coins. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to cover the fare. You dropped the change into the slot, the clinking sound strangely grounding in this surreal moment.

As you stepped further into the bus, your eyes scanned the rows of seats. The hum of the engine and the soft chatter of other students filled the space, but all of that faded when your gaze landed on two familiar figures in the back row.

Adrien, with his short blond hair falling messily over his forehead, was leaning back against the window, lazily scrolling through his phone. Caitlyn, her brown hair tied neatly in a ponytail, sat beside him, scribbling something into a notebook.

Your chest tightened. There they were. Just as you remembered them.

The realization hit you all over again, like a tidal wave crashing against your chest: you were back. Truly, impossibly, undeniably back.

Your gaze lingered on them, drawn to the easy camaraderie between the two. Adrien muttered something, and Caitlyn rolled her eyes with a smirk before elbowing him lightly. The sight was painfully nostalgic, a reminder of the warmth and friendship you’d so carelessly tossed aside.

Then you noticed the empty seat beside them.

It called to you, tempting you to go over, to sit down, to fall back into the fold of their friendship as if nothing had ever happened. You took a hesitant step forward, but your feet faltered.

No. Not yet.

They hadn’t noticed you yet, and maybe that was for the best. You couldn’t just barge back into their lives, not without making things right first. You owed them an apology—a real one—and this wasn’t the time or place for it.

So, you slid into an empty seat farther up the bus, one out of their line of sight.

You exhaled shakily, leaning back against the seat as your mind churned. Seeing them again after all this time stirred up a whirlwind of emotions—guilt, longing, hope, and fear all tangled together.

You didn’t want to ruin their morning. You didn’t want to come crashing back into their lives uninvited, not when they didn’t even know what you carried in your heart.

For now, you’d wait.

But as you sat there, your eyes flickered to the reflection in the window, catching the faint outlines of Adrien and Caitlyn in the background. You couldn’t help but hope that later, you’d be able to face them properly and make things right.

The bus ride felt agonizingly slow, your heart thrumming in your chest as the city passed by in a blur. You were sixteen again. Sixteen, sitting in a high school bus, on your way to Gotham Academy. The thought was still absurd.

When the bus finally pulled up to the school, you stepped off hesitantly, your shoes hitting the pavement with a weight you hadn’t felt in years. Gotham Academy loomed before you, as grand and imposing as ever. The sprawling stone building with its Gothic spires seemed to mock you, its arched windows catching the pale morning sunlight.

You stood frozen for a moment, staring up at the place that had been the backdrop for so many of your formative years. Nostalgia washed over you, bittersweet and suffocating.

The courtyard was already buzzing with students. Groups of teenagers clustered around benches, laughing, chatting, or finishing up last-minute assignments. Some darted across the lawn to catch up with friends. Others leaned against the stone walls, scrolling through their phones.

It was so familiar. The hum of conversation, the subtle hierarchy of who sat where, the tension of homework left undone—it all came rushing back to you. It felt like stepping into a memory, but this wasn’t just a memory. This was real.

You inhaled deeply, the crisp morning air tinged with the faint scent of freshly cut grass and chalk dust.

Two years. It had been two years since you’d last walked these halls. Two years since you’d graduated and left this chapter of your life behind. Except now, here you were, a sixteen-year-old all over again, staring at the same building with the same familiar ache in your chest.

Your gaze shifted to the steps leading to the main entrance. How many times had you trudged up those stairs, your bag heavier than your shoulders could bear? How many times had you stood here, dreading the day ahead because of whispers you couldn’t silence and rumors you couldn’t stop?

The same faces. The same cliques. You spotted people you hadn’t thought about in years, younger and unburdened by the drama that would inevitably unfold.

The weight of it all hit you again. This wasn’t just a second chance to relive the past. This was a chance to change it. To fix the things that had gone wrong. To make peace with the person you were at sixteen and the choices you made.

Your grip tightened on the strap of your bag as you forced yourself to take a step forward, then another. Each step brought a flood of memories, some sweet, others bitter.

This time, things were going to be different.

This was it. The start of your new beginning—or your repeat, depending on how you looked at it.

The rest of the school day went surprisingly smoothly. Classes passed by with minimal hassle, and you even managed to take a few notes—though it was difficult to focus on anything but the surreal fact that you were truly sixteen again.

At lunch, you avoided the cafeteria entirely. You weren’t ready to deal with the crowded chaos yet, so you found a quiet spot outside and ate there instead. The day wasn’t as bad as you remembered, though the whispers and side glances still lingered in the corners of your awareness.

By the time the final bell rang, you almost dared to think that high school wasn’t as awful as you had built it up in your mind. Maybe it was the years of separation—or maybe it was the determination you felt now, knowing you wouldn’t let the same things happen again.

But just as you stepped out of your last class and into the hall, a hand gripped your wrist tightly, yanking you backward. Before you could react, you were dragged into an empty classroom.

The door clicked shut behind you, and when you turned, you froze.

Chloe Travers.

She stood before you with her arms crossed, a wicked smile curling at the corners of her lips. She hadn’t changed a bit—not that you expected her to. Her pristine blonde curls, immaculate uniform, and piercing green eyes screamed perfection. But you knew better.

Chloe was the reason your high school years had been hell. The daughter of influential Gotham socialites, she was untouchable—at least, that’s what everyone believed. Her reputation was pristine, but beneath it was a master manipulator who thrived on making others miserable. She never did anything that could directly incriminate her, and when she couldn’t keep her hands clean, her clique—Maya, Darius, Victoria, Ryder, and Sienna—always covered for her.

You clenched your fists, already bracing for whatever cruel remark she was about to make.

“I almost didn’t recognize you with that awful haircut,” she sneered, taking a slow step closer. “What, did Daddy finally stop paying for your fancy stylists? Or are you just trying to make a statement now?”

You swallowed the bitterness rising in your throat, but this time, you didn’t shrink back.

“Thanks for noticing,” you said evenly, your tone sharper than you’d ever dared to use before.

Her expression faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered, her smirk widening. “Wow, you’ve grown a backbone. What’s next? You’ll actually try to fight back this time?”

“I don’t need to fight back against someone whose entire personality revolves around making people miserable,” you shot back, keeping your voice steady.

Her eyes narrowed, and the room grew tense. Chloe’s lips curled into a condescending grin.

“You really think you’re so much better now, don’t you?” she hissed. “You’re still the same pathetic little shadow, clinging to your daddy’s name to make yourself seem important.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to let her see the way her words stung.

“I’m not the one clinging to my parents for relevance,” you said coolly. “At least I know how to do something other than bully people.”

Her face twisted in fury, and before you could blink, her hand shot up, ready to strike you across the face.

But the impact never came.

A hand stopped hers mid-air, gripping her wrist firmly. Your breath caught as you turned to see Adrien standing there, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with anger.

“Enough,” he said sharply, his voice cold and commanding.

At the same time, someone stepped in front of you protectively, shielding you from Chloe. Caitlyn. Her presence was steady and reassuring, her shoulders squared as if daring Chloe to challenge her.

“You okay?” Caitlyn asked over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off Chloe.

You nodded numbly, unable to form words.

Chloe yanked her arm free from Adrien’s grip, glaring at him. “You’re making a mistake,” she spat, her voice trembling with rage.

“No,” Adrien said calmly, his gaze unwavering. “The mistake would be letting you get away with this again.”

Without another word, Caitlyn grabbed your hand gently but firmly and started leading you out of the room. Adrien followed close behind, his presence a silent warning to Chloe not to follow.

The walk to another empty classroom was silent, tension hanging thick in the air. When you finally stopped, Caitlyn let go of your hand, and the three of you stood there, the quiet almost unbearable.

You stared at them, your mind racing. Why? Why did they jump in like that? Why did they defend you, especially after what happened the last time you’d been sixteen? You remembered the argument clearly, even though it had been four years for you. For them, though, it was probably still fresh.

Before you could say anything, Caitlyn hesitated, then broke the silence.

“Your hair,” she said softly, her tone unsure.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What about it?”

She shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Adrien before looking back at you. “It’s… different. Shorter. You never would’ve done that before.”

Adrien crossed his arms, his expression unreadable as he studied you. “Yeah. What’s going on with you, (Name)?”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “What do you mean?”

“You’re different,” Caitlyn said, stepping closer. Her usual sharpness was softened by concern. “Chloe’s always been horrible, but you’ve never fought back like that before. And now… you’ve cut your hair and…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing.

Adrien crossed his arms, tilting his head as he studied you. “We’re not mad, but we’re worried. You’re not acting like yourself. Did something happen?”

The care in their voices made your chest ache. For years, you’d thought about how deeply you regretted pushing them away, how much you missed them. Now, standing in front of them again, with their concern still so evident despite everything, you didn’t know what to say.

Your lip quivered, and you glanced at the floor, feeling shame creep up your spine. They didn’t deserve the way you’d treated them back then. They were great friends—better than you’d ever acknowledged.

And you threw it all away because you were so caught up in proving yourself to your family.

“I…” Your voice cracked, and you looked up at them, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I’m sorry.”

Adrien and Caitlyn exchanged a surprised look, but neither of them interrupted you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” you said, your voice breaking. “For everything. For how I treated you both. For all the awful things I said. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

You could see their brows knit with confusion, but you couldn’t stop. “You two… you were always there for me. Always trying to help, always standing by me. And I pushed you away like an idiot because I was so focused on proving something to people who didn’t even care.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you hurriedly wiped it away. “I don’t even know why you bothered with me after the way I acted. I don’t deserve friends like you. I don’t deserve you.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Your chest tightened as you added, “And I get it. I’d understand if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore after what I said and did, but—”

You didn’t get to finish.

Caitlyn lunged forward, wrapping her arms around you tightly, cutting off your words with the force of her hug. A second later, Adrien joined her, his arms wrapping around both of you.

For a moment, you were too stunned to move. But as their warmth sank in, so did the overwhelming sense of relief. You let out a shuddering breath, the tears finally spilling freely as you hugged them back.

“You’re such an idiot,” Caitlyn mumbled into your shoulder, her voice trembling. “But we missed you.”

Adrien chuckled softly. “Yeah. Don’t think we’re letting you off the hook that easily. You still owe us an explanation.”

You laughed—a real, genuine laugh—and it felt like something inside you was healing. For the first time in years, you felt lighter.

“Maybe it’s because of the new haircut,” Adrien joked, pulling back slightly to ruffle your still-damp hair.

“Oh, shut up,” you said, sniffling but smiling.

They both grinned, and the three of you stood there for a moment, wrapped in a bubble of comfort and understanding. Whatever came next, you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t letting go of them this time.

You walked into the manor, cheeks hurting from the wide smile you couldn’t seem to shake off. For once, you felt like you were doing something right—something for yourself. The weight of guilt and regret that had once plagued you felt lighter, almost manageable. You’d made up with Adrien and Caitlyn. You’d taken the first step in changing things.

It felt surreal, like you were rewriting the script of your life in ways you hadn’t dared to dream before.

As you walked into the living room, Alfred was tidying up, humming softly to himself. He glanced up when he saw you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.

“You’re back earlier than expected,” he said, pausing his work. “And wearing a smile that’s far too wide to be anything ordinary. Might I ask what has brought this unusual cheer to your day?”

You grinned, almost mischievously. “Let’s just say… things are changing, Alfred. For the better.”

Alfred raised a brow but didn’t press further. “Hmm, cryptic as always, I see. Well, whatever has brought this change, I hope it continues to do so.”

You turned to head upstairs, but Alfred’s voice stopped you. “Oh, before I forget,” he said, “you do have a patrol scheduled for tonight. Do be mindful of the time.”

And just like that, your smile faltered. Patrol. Right. How could you almost forget? Almost.

Because this was that time—when you were sixteen, desperate to prove yourself, and driven by an endless spiral of toxic self-comparison. This was the period when Stephanie had donned the Batgirl mantle, leaving behind her identity as Spoiler, and your insecurities had spiraled out of control.

Back then, you felt overshadowed, like Stephanie’s presence somehow diminished your worth. Even after she eventually returned to being Spoiler, the damage was already done in your mind. You hadn’t “won” anything; you’d simply been left behind.

But now… now, standing in this second chance at life, you could see how warped your thinking had been. None of it mattered. What mattered was doing what was right—not for anyone else, but for yourself.

Your resolve solidified. You turned back to Alfred. “Where’s father?”

Alfred frowned slightly, tilting his head. “In the cave, as usual. Why do you ask?”

You didn’t answer, simply nodded and headed toward the clock entrance. Alfred’s confused expression followed you, but he didn’t question further.

Descending into the Batcave, the cool air and faint hum of machinery enveloped you. The smell of leather, metal, and the faint chemical tang of the medbay felt familiar, almost comforting.

There he was, seated at the Batcomputer, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scanned reports and case files. His back was to you, but you didn’t need to see his face to know the intensity of his focus.

“Father,” you called out.

Bruce didn’t turn, though his fingers paused briefly over the keyboard. “I’m here,” he replied, his voice steady and sharp, as always. “What is it?”

You stepped further in, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m not going on patrol tonight.”

Bruce didn’t react at first, still absorbed in whatever was on the screen. “Alright,” he said absently. “I’ll reschedule your route for another time. Stephanie can fill in for you tonight—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “That’s not what I meant.”

Finally, Bruce stopped typing. Slowly, he turned his chair around to face you, his expression calm but searching. “Then what do you mean?��

You took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage you had. “I’m done, Father. I’m quitting as Batgirl.”

i don’t think this really focused on the batfam as much, it’s more of world-building i suppose. but the next parts will definitely showcase more of the batfam!!

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows @thethingwiththefeathers @mochiivqi @pix-stuff @narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 | ask to be added <3 (idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

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butchlifeguard · 2 years ago

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btw if anyone has recs for really heavy metal its greatly appreciated

#sorry for trying to impress a boy right before pride month /joke #i also listen to this shit but its like the same 3 artists he already listens to #like rings of saturn / infant annihilator. idk fuckin whitechapel #my favorite song from them is bloodsoaked symphony so it counts #EDIT. MEMORY WIN #remembering a tiktok reposted to pinterest that i saved and screenshotted in summer 2021 with a heavy song in it #it was the human disaster by acacia strain which he probably already listens to but he wont mind #today i sent him sound effects and overdramatics for like the 3rd time and he was like fuck yeah bro🤘#< he liked it lets fucking go

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quizzicalwriter · 1 year ago

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Cola

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were off for spring break, why not introduce yourself to your parent’s new next door neighbor?

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Infidelity, older Ellie, touching, kissing, fingering, squirting, strap usage (r!receiving)

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Part two / Part three

“Those two always argue.” Your mom huffed out, eyes flickering over to the open kitchen window, the sounds of a shouted confrontation pouring in through the screen. You turned your head away from your mom, squinting to see through the mess of trees and bushes that separated your parent’s house from their neighbors.

Whoever they were, they didn’t sound happy. Some of the words exchanged made you wince, eyes widening as you looked back to your mom with a faint and semi-embarrassed laugh, as though you’d heard too much from someone you didn’t even know the face of.

“Sounds like it.” You replied, hopping down from the kitchen counter to pad over to the island, leaning down on your elbows as your mom kneaded out the dough for her bread. The house smelled lovely, reminding you of your childhood when you’d bother your mom to bits because you wanted to ‘help,’ not realizing your help usually meant tripping your mom up or making her forget important steps in her cooking.

So for now you just watched, committing it all to memory in hopes you’d be able to accomplish something even the slightest bit similar once your break was over and you were forced back onto campus. As your mom placed the bread into the oven you padded upstairs, deciding on changing out of your pajamas, after all, it was nearly one in the afternoon and you had plans to go out not too much later.

You sorted through your dresser, humming to yourself as you stripped yourself of your clothing. You’d never given much thought to your bedroom windows, one faced the backyard and one faced your neighbor's house. You’d never worried about your neighbor before, or now, given the argument you just overheard not too long ago. As you pulled your sundress over your head you turned to your window, consequently locking eyes with your parent’s neighbor who stood dumbstruck in her backyard.

“Fuck-“ You cursed, immediately moving from the window's line of sight as you pulled your dress on. “Great, haven’t even been home for a day and I’ve already flashed the neighbor.”

The embarrassment was still ripe in your mind as you made your way back downstairs, hopeful that some homemade bread would soothe your mind. As you walked into the kitchen you noticed your mom wrapping the bread, her eyes casting over to you.

“There you are!” She stated, smiling brightly. “Can you take this over to the neighbors? Figured that poor girl can use some homemade bread with her wife yelling like that all the time.”

You feigned a smile, not one to turn your mom down for something so simple. So you took the bread, holding it close to your chest as you slipped your sandals on, padding down the front porch steps and over onto their lawn.

It was beautifully manicured, the nearby garden buzzing with birds and bees. You’d only ever seen such manicured lawns on the nicer side of town, where dads took utmost pride in ensuring their lawns looked picture-perfect. Maybe the neighbor was one of those people? You mulled the thought over as you walked up their front porch steps, ringing the doorbell with your elbow after.

You could hear the sound of sports blaring from inside the house, the sound suddenly muted, followed by the subtle sound of footsteps approaching the door. What you hadn’t expected, or at least hoped wouldn’t happen, was that the same woman who’d just seen you naked would be on the other side of the door.

You paled, as did she, her eyes flickering between yours and the bread you now appeared to be crushing in your grasp, the crackling of the crust sounding in the awkward silence shared between you two.

“You’re going to kill it.” She muttered, pointing down to the bread. You jumped, looking down at it, silently cursing at yourself as you loosened your grip.

“My mom-“ You started, clearing your throat as you shook your head. “She made you bread, wanted me to deliver it.”

You handed the bread over, feigning a smile as she took it from your hands, smiling down at it as she flipped it over in her grasp. For some godforsaken reason, you blurted out the one thing lingering on your mind, instead of being a normal human being and brushing past it.

“I’m sorry you saw my tits.”

The words hung heavy in the air, causing her to stiffen as she looked up at you, her face soon twisting into a smile as she broke out into laughter. She laughed for a bit, enough for you to calm yourself and laugh a fair bit yourself.

“Blunt, aren’t you?” She laughed out, wiping beneath her eyes as she caught her breath. “Jesus, kid. It’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have been looking. I’m- I’m Ellie.”

You smiled, extending out your hand which Ellie quickly took, giving it a slight shake, although you could tell she was holding herself back as she did. It made you wonder just how strong her hands were, especially since her arm muscles seemed to be made ever more apparent in the midday sun.

“Nice name.” You stated, dropping your hand back down to your side. “My parents are your neighbors, I’m just visiting because I’m on break.”

Ellie nodded, pursing her lips as her gaze flickered over to your parent’s house. “High school?” She asked, looking back at you.

“College.” You replied, rocking back onto your heels. “First year.”

Ellie’s fingers smoothed over the cellophane, the wrinkling of the plastic underneath her hands filling the silence once again. She exhaled then, turning halfway toward her front door before smiling back at you.

“Tell your mom I said thanks.”

You gave her a brief thumbs-up, walking back down the porch steps into your parent's yard, completely oblivious to the fact that Ellie watched you walk back the whole way, eyes fixated on your hips and ass.

Much to your chagrin, your parents were pinnacles of their neighborhood, knowing everyone and everything that went on within the little suburb. It was nice, in a way, the little neighborhood block parties and the way they always had friends to talk to. It certainly took the pressure off of you in some aspects, but what you hadn’t figured was that they’d throw a party during your break.

They swore it was for you and for you to catch up with everyone, you had been gone for a while at college, so in a way, you were thankful and found it cute. What you didn’t factor in was Ellie attending, her hair tied back in a half-bun, white shirt sleeves rolled up halfway, practically sex on legs. You’d hardly heard your mom asking you to cart out some drinks to the table in the middle of the cul-de-sac until she nudged you with your foot, to which you profusely apologized and made your way outside.

Ellie was conversing with your dad, a bright smile on her face, a drink in one hand as the other rested in her front pocket. Your dad noticed you approaching, smiling at you as he waved you over, you put on a brave face and placed the drinks down on the nearby table before making your way over to them.

“Ellie, this is my daughter.” He stated, pulling you close as he smiled over at Ellie. Ellie only nodded, taking a sip of her drink before replying.

“Met her yesterday, she dropped off some bread. Really good bread, by the way. I’ll have to thank your mom in person.”

Your dad laughed and nodded, about to say something further until a few of his friends from around the neighborhood called him over. He gave Ellie a brief apology, walking over in their direction after, leaving you and her alone.

“Nice dress.” She murmured, eyes flickering over the fabric, how it hugged your hips, the way your breasts strained against the top, it made her have to clear her throat.

“Thanks.” You replied, smiling up at her. You took a moment to look around the party, wondering where her wife was amongst all the other partygoers. “Where’s your wife? You have one, right?”

Ellie snickered at your question, nodding in response as she took another drink from her cup. “I do have a wife.” She stated, tone hinting toward a fair bit of irritation on the subject. “She’s with her parents for a while.”

Sensing the irritation on the subject, your eyes widened, looking to the table between you as you pursed your lips. You’d never been one for awkward situations, they always made your nervous laugh flare up. As if on cue, your lips quirked into a smile, one Ellie noticed right away.

“Am I missing out on a joke?” She asked, words sarcastic as she placed her now empty cup down on the table. Your smirk turned into laughter, your hand shooting up to cover your mouth as you shook your head.

“No, fuck-“ You started, laughter continuing as you squeezed your eyes shut. “I have a nervous laugh, your response made me laugh.”

Ellie’s shoulders seemed to drop then, a smile of her own making an appearance as she chuckled, breathing out a lungful of air as she looked over to you. “You’re weird.” She noted, although a hint of something warm lingered in her words.

“I’ve been told.” You replied, tilting your head as your laughter died down. “I’m sorry for asking about your wife, by the way. You seemed pissed at the mere mention of her.”

Ellie shrugged then, sighing quietly as she itched the back of her neck. “It’s no problem, I guess it’s a sore subject. She’s- well, I’m sure you’ve heard.”

You nodded, not wanting to pry on the subject. After all, you were fairly certain everyone in the neighborhood had heard Ellie and her wife arguing at the asscrack of dawn. You’d never been close enough to overhear specifically what it was about, but it was loud enough to startle you on more than one occasion.

“Why don’t you leave?” You asked, knowing the question was a bit loaded. “I mean, you guys argue a lot. I was just wondering.”

She waved off your concern. “I get it, I’ve heard my fair share of it. I’ve thought about it.”

A sigh passed her lips then, one she shook off as she reached for another drink, popping the top off with her thumb before drinking some. As she swallowed she looked back to you, faint worry lines evident against her skin. You wondered how much older than you she was, she had to be at least ten to fifteen years older. The thought aroused you, making you pull your gaze from hers as you tried to focus on the table.

“How old are you?” She asked, seemingly reading your mind. You looked back up at her, smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Nearly twenty.”

She laughed then, eyes widening as she looked away from you. “Would not have guessed that.”

You laughed in response, moving over to her side of the table, propping yourself up on it as you met her gaze. “Why?”

“Well, I’m twice your age, that’s why.” She responded, words soft as she looked down at you.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the ever-present ache in your lower stomach at the near condescending tone she used with you. Her age shouldn’t have made her hotter, but it did, it really did.

“You look good for your age.” You replied. “Really good.”

Ellie chuckled in her throat, eyebrows lifting for a moment as she shook her head, eyes fixated on the rim of her cup. “You’re bold.” She stated, words spoken with a sigh as she turned her head to look out at the amassed crowd. After a moment she turned back to you, a coy grin on her face. “You haven’t seen my house, have you?”

There was a hidden insinuation in her words, in the way her eyes hovered over your chest before flickering back up to your eyes. You’d be a fool to say anything other than ‘no.’ So you shook your head, the motion causing her smile to widen as she nodded to her house, inviting you to follow her. Part of you pulled, begged for you to go in the opposite direction, knowing exactly what’d happen once you were inside her house - she was married, for Christ’s sake, but you couldn’t. The way her hand flexed around her drink made your stomach twist, panties coated in your wetness already.

You felt thankful that everyone seemed too preoccupied with the huge pile of fireworks to notice you and Ellie ducking off, even more so once you were inside her house, wordlessly following her through the halls. There were pictures of who you could only assume were Ellie’s family, photos with her smiling brightly, in the middle of fits of laughter, it was precious. You couldn’t help but smile at them as she moved into her kitchen, placing the cup down on the island counter.

“I like your photos.” You stated, moving into the kitchen after her, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of her leaned back against the counter, muscles in her forearms evident.

“Take off your clothes.” She responded, tone nonchalant as though she were asking you to hand her a plate. You didn’t hesitate, eyes locked with hers as you reached behind yourself, unzipping your dress. The fabric slipped down your form, exposing your bare breasts to her eyes. She smiled, moving toward you, raising a hand to hold your hip as the other moved to your breasts, kneading the flesh in her palm as she took in your body. “No bra?”

You shook your head, breaths coming out shallow as her finger brushed over your hardening nipple. “Don’t like them.” You whispered, eyes flickering up to meet hers. “They wouldn’t go with the dress.”

Ellie nodded, smiling to herself as her other hand looped around the hem of your panties, bending down slightly to help you step out of them. You’d half expected her to toss them to the floor, but she balled them up, shoving them into her back pocket. The act was perverse, leaving you clenching around nothing as you watched her stand back up straight.

She traced the back of her hand along your curves, touch so gentle it almost didn’t register in your mind. It almost seemed as though she meant to commit every facet of your being to memory, the thought alone making your thighs clench together, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by her. Her green eyes flitted up to your face, brows quirking up in amusement as she trailed the back of her fingers along your inner thighs, fingertips barely brushing the outside of your cunt.

“Are you aching?” She asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear you admit to it. You nodded, wetting your lips. She tutted, turning her hand over to press her middle and ring finger to your folds, applying just enough pressure to gather your wetness on the pads of her fingers. Your legs practically buckled beneath you, a whine dying in the back of your throat as you held onto the counter behind you.

She pulled her hand away then, examining her fingertips under the warm hue of the kitchen lights, a smug smile on her face as her eyes flitted back up to meet yours. She held up her fingers then, pressing them to your lips, to which you eagerly opened your mouth. Her fingers pressed down on your tongue, the taste of your arousal coating your tastebuds as you sucked her fingers clean.

A soft moan passed her lips at the feeling of your tongue laving at her fingers, causing her to ache as well. You could see her pupils dilate, her breath coming out haggard as she removed her fingers from your mouth, brushing her thumb against your bottom lip after. You kept your gaze steady with hers, having to remind yourself to breathe every few seconds.

“Want me to fuck you?” She asked, the question so bold that you nearly forgot to respond until her eyes flicked up from your breasts to your eyes, her brow quirking in question. You nodded.

“Please.”

She bit back a smile, grabbing your wrist before leading you back through the house toward the staircase. The walls and furniture passed by your mind in a blur, only finding yourself able to focus on Ellie’s back and the occasional glance toward you she’d toss over her shoulder. Her being fully clothed while you’d been stripped of everything you’d worn was not lost on you, if anything it seemed to heighten your arousal.

Her bedroom was modest, with a nice king-sized mattress in the middle of the room and two big windows overlooking the backyard and the side of your parent's house - the view was partially skewed by some trees, but you could see your bedroom window. Ellie led you over to the bed, letting you sit down as she moved over to her bedside table. You watched in silent amazement as she removed her clothes, each layer removed exposing more and more of her toned skin to your eyes.

You’d hardly been paying attention to anything else besides her abdomen and arms, finding yourself surprised when she moved back in front of you, hand languidly pumping her strap. She looked at you expectantly, to which you moved from the bed and onto your knees, opening your mouth obediently. She hummed out a laugh, fingers brushing your hair back from your face as she used her other hand to slap the tip of her strap against your tongue.

You wrapped your lips around the silicone tip, relaxing your throat as you began bobbing your head, earning you an affectionate coo as she cradled your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. Her hips moved forward, pushing her strap farther down your throat, causing your eyes to water as you held back an involuntary gag. You could hear her holding back a grunt at the sight of you struggling to take her strap down your throat, spit coating your chin and dripping down to the top of your breasts.

“You look so good choking on my cock.” She whispered, tone full of pride as she smiled down at you. Her fingers grasped your hair, sharply pulling you back, a string of drool connecting you to the tip of her strap. You licked your lips clean, taking in several deep breaths as you looked up at her. She nodded her head toward the bed, helping you to your feet before guiding you onto the plush mattress, positioning you on your hands and knees.

You rested down on your elbows, arching your back, feeling the cold air against your bare cunt. Her hands smoothed up the back of your thighs, harshly grabbing at your ass, giving the skin there a sharp slap. You whined, leaning forward, only for her to grab your hips and pull you back. You bit into your bottom lip, feeling her drag the tip of her strap up and down along your folds, finally pushing in after you let out a particularly needy whine.

“Fuck-“ You cried out, resting your head on your forearms as you let her hoist your body up, fucking you hard enough for the bed frame to clatter against the wall. You could feel your cum dripping down your inner thighs, each push forward of her hips creating a sheen of your juices around the silicone.

She was hitting so deep within you, surely bruising your cervix, each thrust leaving you gasping into her bedsheets, fingers twisted into the maroon fabric. Her hands grasped harshly at your hips, nails digging into the plush flesh as she fucked her strap into you.

“Take it so good.” She murmured through grunts, voice breathless and strained. Her praise went straight to your cunt, causing you to squeeze around her strap. Her hands moved to your lower back, pushing down until your chest and stomach were flush with the bedding. “Arch that back, baby. Fuck-“

You could hear the lewd noise pooling from between your legs, cum slowly dripping down your skin. You were putty in her hands, wanting her to do everything she wanted with you - and she would.

Her right arm hooked around your waist, hand immediately moving to your cunt where she circled her fingers around your clit, slick noises emanating in the air between your near pathetic whines for her to fuck you harder, deeper - you couldn’t get enough of her. She pressed kisses down the back of your neck to the top of your spine, gently nipping at the skin as she continued rutting into you.

“Gonna cum on my cock, baby?” She all but purred into your shoulder, placing an open-mouthed kiss on your skin in between her words. “Go on, cum for me.”

You could hardly formulate words to reply, all you managed was a strangled cry of her name into the bedsheets, hips jerking in her hold. She didn’t slow down, still fucking her strap into you as she circled her fingers around your clit. Your hands pushed at hers, wordlessly telling her it was too much, all for her to use the hand she’d been using to circle your clit to hold your hands together by your wrists.

“Just stay like that, baby.” She grunted out, cursing under her breath as the base of the strap bumped into her clit over, and over again, bringing her to the cusp of her orgasm. You’d never been one for overstimulation, but the way she had you pinned to the mattress paired with the way her strap rutted against your g-spot left you teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

You were cumming around her strap before you’d even registered it, hips pathetically pushing back to meet her thrusts as you cried out her name into the bedsheets. Everything in your mind seemed to be muddled, finding yourself only able to focus on the sheer pleasure coursing through your veins paired with Ellie’s moans as she fucked you through her orgasm. It wasn't until after you were able to finally fill your lungs full of air that you realized your inner thighs were soaked.

“Holy fuck.” Ellie laughed out, eyes widened with amusement as she pulled out of you, strap dripping with your cum. “You soaked the sheets.”

You felt your face alight, nervous and breathless laughter leaving you as you brushed your hair from your face. “‘M sorry.”

She shook her head, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, undoing the harness before tossing it to the other side of the room, her breaths coming out in shallow pants. “Fuck, don’t apologize for that. Here- wait here, okay?”

You gave her a weak nod, collapsing down onto the comfortable mattress, feeling your thigh muscles twitching beneath your skin. She returned moments later, your dress in one hand and a wet washcloth in the other. She placed your dress beside you, seeming to hesitate in her movements before wiping down the inside of your thighs, the feeling pulling a tired whine from your chest.

After that was a bit of a blur, you’d managed to get yourself dressed and presentable. Ellie put on a different outfit, grumbling something about how her clothes had gotten soaked during the whole ordeal. She was far more gentle than she had been beforehand, seeming to not meet your gaze without a faint blush painted across her cheeks. As she moved with you down the staircase and toward the front door, you turned to her, a naive hopefulness in your eyes.

“Can I see you again?” You asked, giving her a small smile. She looked down at you, lips quirking at the sides. Although you could tell she was struggling with her moral quandary centered around her infidelity. You didn’t know if you’d get the truth from her, but you’d let yourself believe whatever she responded with.

“Sure.”

A/N: This one is so long, I’m so sorry. I have a thing for older Ellie. I ain’t apologizing for that. Anyway!!! If y’all have any requests for Ellie or Abby or anyone from TLOU2 let me know! I hope you guys enjoy this, and thank you for reading or skimming or whatever you do - I appreciate the interactions nonetheless. And you can find all my works over on my AO3 under the user, “Unscriptural.”

#my work #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie tlou2

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bamsara · 7 months ago

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trod au ramble u can ignore

when i say slowburn in an enemies to friends to lovers for Trod I mean slowburn. 300k before Narinder even openly admits he cares for the Lamb, and Lamb actually opens up more than just a shield of positivity and another 100k of character growth, drama, complicated intricacies of grief and anger to communication. The Lamb has boundaries and sticks by them constantly in trod, they're not a pushover, but they don't blow up and react in explosive anger the same way that Narinder does and they are mistaken for soft by him for it, when it's him having to be the one who is constantly re-evaluating his priorities and his behavior because the lamb isn't taking shit from him, despite patience and love, and he's put in this position where he's allowing the grief and the hurt to keep hurting himself and the Lamb in the process, until he risks losing them and Narinder makes the active decision to work on himself. They HAD a healthy, wonderful friendship before, he cared for them. He still does. He wishes he didn't but god he still does.

but i dislike when characters do one change or have one realization and suddenly they're super nice. no I want them to be continuously complex. I want their bad habits and miscommunication to not instantly or quickly disappear, I want continuous effort from the wronger. do you hear me. CONTINUOUS EFFORT. that means a character fucking up again and again and relasping and changing and cursing and being like well he doesn't need to be any different because its not his fault then going back and being like. no. it was my fault. i am wronged and I am the wronger. i need complexities. Let us not forget the definition of 'enemy' in the enemies to friends to lovers here. if they start off soft then where is the growth. Where is the room for growth I want. Where is it.

they get to the processing of emotions they haven't allowed themselves to feel properly for centuries to take this friendship gone sour by betrayal, plagued by anger and hurt to something slowly blooming back into trust and care and soft until eventually its this healthy love of these uberly overpowered pair of gods

Trod bad end is when Narinder just speed runs the 'rehabilitation' part of the rehabilitation of death' and it circles back to him going feral in the head. Still an asshole? okay your lamb is gone. regret your pride and ego because the patient love you were afforded is gone forever and the last memory you gave them was not the love you could have given them but it will be the love that destroys mortality to get them back.

amnesia au Narinder is just happy to be here. no betrayal, no angst. eventually when his memory does return and he gets caught pretending he doesn't remember just so he can be sweet to them without his pride in the way will force a conversation that will essentially fix the horrific communication these two have. speedrun trod x2

Current Trod Narinder is a emo angsty bastard who's rightfully hurt at being imprisoned and (in his heart) betrayed by someone he trusted dearly (again) while Post-Trod Narinder is still a feral bastard but with truly un-constipated, true equal love for the Lamb that wears a wedding ring made of his own blood to the tune of 'i miss my wife tails' and got a praise kink

but if its not absolute hell getting to that point then WHAT IS THE POINT

and all these are mostly about Narinder but don't even get me started on the Lamb's issues. That sheep thang is hiding shit.

Except I can't talk about the Lamb's hiding issues Too Much yet unless you've been in my art streams and have seen some of my comics, then IYKYK but aaaaaaaaaaUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHG

#hi i feel like rambling about au today #cw for suggestive joke #feeling cute might delete this later #sara shush #trod au #the rehabilitation of death #writings #<for tag sorting

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thedensworld · 8 months ago

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I Can Fight | J.Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Since you married Jeon Wonwoo, you always considered to not wear revealing clothes. Honestly, Wonwoo doesn't care.

Maestro is definitely Wonwoo's era. My love from him escalates from hundred to limited🤍 god, i need him in my life. However, enjoy this fluffy fluffy wonuuuu🥰

It hasn't even been a year since you tied the knot with Jeon Wonwoo, the heir to a vast conglomerate. He possesses everything one could desire: a top-tier education, a lucrative career, and a prominent place in society. Yet, despite his wealth and status, he insists that you are the center of his universe. You, a mere lecturer at a university owned by his father, never imagined you'd capture the heart of someone like Wonwoo.

Your paths crossed at an event where you represented the university as its youngest dean. Wonwoo's attention was drawn to you instantly, captivated by the calm grace you exuded. The following morning, you were taken aback to find him at the university, seeking you out.

"I have something to discuss with you," he said, his eyes filled with a mixture of determination and something else, something softer.

As he proposed an internship program to benefit the students, the conversation effortlessly shifted from professional to personal. It became evident that his true motive was to get closer to you, to unravel the layers of your being.

You couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in your heart as Wonwoo confessed his ulterior motive. How could you resist someone who pursued you with such sincerity and charm?

Wonwoo's pride in you knew no bounds. He loved to showcase you to his friends and colleagues, boasting about your intelligence and beauty at every opportunity. Being by his side at elite events was both an honor and a responsibility, one that required the perfect attire to match his prestigious status.

As you surveyed the two gowns laid out before you in the bedroom, the weight of the upcoming event pressed upon you. Your current formal attire had already made its rounds, and you couldn't bear the thought of causing Wonwoo any embarrassment by appearing in the same outfit again.

With a heavy sigh, you reached for your phone, dialing Seungkwan's number without hesitation. He was your trusted friend, the one whose fashion sense you relied on for such occasions. But as you questioned his choices, your finger instinctively pointed towards the more daring of the two gowns—a black off-shoulder number with a thigh-high slit.

"What were you thinking with these options?" you inquired, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and concern. The other gown, a deep red wine hue, was equally alluring, with its backless design and knee-high slit, presenting a different kind of challenge.

"I thought that's what rich people wear to events like that! It's straight out of the pages of those fancy books!" Seungkwan's voice came through the phone, his defense ringing with a hint of sheepishness.

You took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling deeply before responding. "Do you honestly think I usually wear something like these?" You couldn't help but chuckle, the absurdity of the situation washing over you.

Seungkwan's laughter echoed through the phone. "Of course not. Last time you wore something revealing was when you danced to '10 Minute' at Jeonghan's birthday party in college."

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you recalled the carefree days of youth. "And I was so drunk that I slit my skirt and cut my sleeves," you added, shaking your head at the memory.

Seungkwan's tone turned more serious. "Just wear it. You won't embarrass your husband by wearing it. Trust me."

You nervously bit your lip, the weight of Seungkwan's words sinking in. "He's a respected person, Seungkwan. And I'm an academic. Last time I wore something tight, someone actually talked about him."

"No way! What did they say?" Seungkwan's curiosity piqued through the phone.

You let out a weary sigh, memories of the unpleasant encounter resurfacing. "Just that I looked too hot for a professor, and my look didn't match Wonwoo. It was awful, really. I wish I could have stood up to them at the time."

Seungkwan's voice came through with conviction, urging you not to let others dictate your choices. "Darling! Don't let them stop you. What if you are actually too hot? It's their fault they couldn't handle your fire! Stand up to them if someone talks to you like that."

A soft laugh escaped your lips at Seungkwan's fierce encouragement. "You know I can't fight," you admitted, resigned to your non-confrontational nature.

Before you could dwell further on the conversation, the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open interrupted your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to see your husband standing there, his presence filling the room with warmth and reassurance.

"Wonwoo just got back from work, I'll let you know my choice. Thanks for getting me these dresses, though," you informed Seungkwan.

Seungkwan hummed in acknowledgment. "Say hi to Wonwoo. I believe he'll choose the black one."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his teasing remark. "Shut up," you retorted playfully before ending the call.

As Wonwoo entered the room, his presence instantly filled the space with comfort and affection. His tie was discarded, and he loosened his blazer before casting a glance at the dresses laid out on the bed.

"Seungkwan got me these for tonight," you explained, gesturing towards the gowns. Wonwoo nodded in understanding as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"He has great taste," he murmured softly, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

A tender smile graced your lips as he pulled you closer, his embrace providing solace and reassurance. "You'll look good in everything," he added, his words washing over you like a comforting embrace.

You gently touched his arms, leaning into his embrace. "But don't you think they'll be too revealing? I could just wear the one I've already used."

Wonwoo shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "If you want to wear these, then wear them. I think you'll look absolutely gorgeous, whether in revealing clothes or not."

A surge of warmth flooded your chest at his words, his unwavering support comforting you. "However, I would love to see you in them," he added, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, turning your head to meet his gaze. "Really?"

Wonwoo nodded, his expression earnest. "Let's show them that you're hot, just like what Seungkwan said."

Your astonishment grew as you realized he had overheard your conversation with Seungkwan. "From which part did you hear us?" you asked curiously.

"From the start. I actually wanted to surprise you, but you were talking to him," Wonwoo confessed with a sheepish smile.

A moment of silence passed between you before he spoke again. "Actually, I want to thank him for getting you these dresses. I can't wait to see you wear it," he added, his excitement evident in his voice.

He gently withdrew his arms from your waist, turning your body to face him. His hands tenderly moved from your hair to your face, cupping your cheeks and stroking them softly. "I'd love to see you in the black one tonight," he murmured, his voice filled with affection as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

A warmth spread through you at his touch and words, reassurance flooding your senses. "Your friend knows me so well," he remarked, planting another kiss on your forehead before trailing down to your shoulder.

His gestures of love and appreciation enveloped you, melting away any lingering doubts or insecurities.

***

You approached Wonwoo where he sat on the couch in the living room, a hint of uncertainty in your gaze. "Isn't it too revealing?" you asked, your voice tinged with self-doubt.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in your breathtaking appearance. The black dress hugged your curves in all the right places, accentuating your beauty in a way that left him speechless. The subtle yet alluring makeup only enhanced your features, drawing his eyes irresistibly to you. And the scent of your perfume, a familiar fragrance that never failed to captivate him, enveloped him in a heady mix of calm and desire.

As your hand moved to cover the revealed thigh, a part of you that he found utterly captivating, Wonwoo couldn't tear his gaze away from you. His heart raced with a jealous fervor, envying his own eyes for having the privilege of beholding your radiance.

"Is it not working?" you questioned, disappointment evident in your tone as he remained silent.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Wonwoo reached out to gently grasp your hand, pulling it away from your thigh. "No, it's not that," he finally managed to say, his voice filled with reverence and admiration. "You look absolutely stunning, beyond words."

Wonwoo sensed your apprehension and immediately shook his head, stepping forward to take your hand and press a tender kiss to it. "I can't believe I'm married to you. You look amazing, love," he murmured, lifting your hand and encouraging you to spin to showcase your dress.

As you twirled, a hint of uncertainty lingered in your mind, but Wonwoo's gasp of awe and promise to buy you countless dresses like the one you wore washed away your worries.

"You can wear anything you want, love. I can fight.," he declared, his words echoing your own inner resolve.

A smile graced your lips as you leaned in to peck his cheek, feeling reassured by his unwavering support. "I'll fight them with my whole life. But kiss me again, here and now," he requested, tapping his lips playfully.

You obliged, landing another gentle kiss, but before you could pull away, Wonwoo's grip on your head tightened, deepening the kiss into a passionate embrace. Lost in the moment, your hands instinctively found their way to his neck, reveling in the intimacy of the kiss that ignited a fiery passion between you.

"Should we skip the event?" he suggested with a mischievous smirk, tempting you with the idea of spending the evening wrapped up in each other's arms.

You playfully slapped his chest, chuckling at his suggestion. "Let's wipe your lips and let me fix my makeup. Seungcheol is going to kill you if we skip his birthday party," you reminded him, handing him a wet wipe.

Wonwoo chuckled as he wiped his mouth clean of your lipstick. "He loves me, he won't kill me," he mumbled before turning his gaze back to you. "So, what do you think?" he asked, anticipation dancing in his eyes as he awaited your response.

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oneforthemunny · 9 months ago

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surprise, surprise |eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie forgets your birthday. or maybe he doesn't.

my birthday is in a few days and i wanted to write a little birthday ficlet blurb :) no aus, just eddie.

contains: angst/fluff. birthday doom. kinda asshole eddie?? kinda asshole friends?? really fluffy sweet ending. language.

“So,” Heather leaned over, chin propped in her hands dramatically slumped over the counter. “What’re you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing,” You hummed, fingers flicking through the crinkled bills. “Why? You know something fun going on?”

“It’s your birthday.” Heather gawked playfully. “You’re not doing anything for your birthday?”

You rolled your eyes lightly, pushing the cash drawer closed. “No.” You shook your head, voice tight.

“Eddie isn’t taking you out?” Heather’s brows furrowed. “Or you’re not going home? Going out? Are you getting a cake?”

Your heart sank, a familiar burn rising in your chest. You didn’t speak about your birthday much, not much of an occasion for celebration to you, more of one that was dreadful. Another year closer to death, you’d grumble cynically. Still, when Eddie hadn’t even acknowledged it, when your friends had all blown you off for other plans, a new kind of ache formed in your chest. The sting of being forgotten, of being unimportant and discarded- on your birthday.

It left a bitter taste on your tongue, sardonic and painful when you spoke about your impending birthdate. “No,” You shook your head, chin ducked to your chest. You had never wanted a customer to come in so badly, save you from this painful conversation with your co-worker. “They’re all busy.”

“Oh.” Heather quipped, face falling at your tone.

“I mean, it’s my fault.” You added quickly- defensively. Why you were so defensive over the people who had discarded you so easily, you weren’t sure. “I should have planned something earlier, but… I dunno, I got busy and life got super hectic and it just slipped past me-”

“-No,” Heather shook her head, curls unmoving with the abundance of Aquanet she used, still. “That’s really shitty of them, all of them. It’s your birthday.”

You stayed silent, wiping the counter half heartedly, swallowing back the familiar burn in your throat that choked you. “I mean, if it was my girlfriend or my friend, I would be buggin’ about their birthday.” Heather shrugged.

“Yeah, me too.” You muttered. Bouts of memories pouring back into your mind. How you’d planned a party for Eddie, baked him some stupid cake from scratch that was in the Lord of the Rings. You’d gone to countless second hand stores trying to find the ancient recipe, and it took you a day to perfect. Now, he couldn’t even be bothered to take you out? Get you a cheap store bought cake?

“I’m sorry.” Heather muttered, a solemn, nearly guilty pout on her lips. “Well, you’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I get off at three. What if we go out? We can go to the bar- oh, there’s this new band playing in Franklin. Tommy could drive us.” Heather, ever the bubbly optimist, grinned, eyes shining with pride. It was endearing, made your heart squeeze with an ache you weren’t quite sure how to describe.

“I’ll even get you a cupcake. A good one, from Nadia’s.” Heather added.

“You don’t have to do that.” You shook your head lightly. You and Heather were work friends, hung out on the rare occasion after work to bitch about work, about the other coworkers, the pain-in-the-ass customers of the day over glasses of Pinot. Selfishly, it felt nice to have someone excited for your birthday.

You hated that you wished it was Eddie, your own friends.

“What’s your flavor, hm? Chocolate?” Heather pressed, brushing you off cheerily.

“Don’t get me a cupcake. I’ll throw it up if we’re drinking. All the icing and liquor.” You snarled your nose playfully.

“Fine. I’m buying you a drink then.” Heather nodded. She paused, nails drumming on the counter too. “And, I mean, if you want Eddie to come too, of course he’s invited.” Her eyes cut to yours carefully. “I didn’t know if you wanted him to come.”

“I mean, I don’t know if he’d even be able to.” Your lips pursed, a cutting edge of annoyance in your tone. “He’s so busy.”

Heather cringed, shooting you an apologetic look. “Yeah, that… I’m sorry, that sucks.” She mumbled.

A stiff silence fell between the two of you over the whirr of the air conditioning blowing through the vents. “Since it’s so dead, why don’t you go early?” Heather suggested. “I can cover closing.”

“Heather, Mel will be pissed-”

“-Mel will be pissed if she has to pay both of us for standing around.” Heather gave you a pointed look. “And you came in before me. I got it.”

“Are you sure?” You hesitated. “I don’t care to stay in case there’s a rush-”

“-At seven?” Heather scoffed slightly. “Go. I’ve got it.”

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you when I’m on my way, ‘kay?” Heather chirped.

“See you then.” You waved, cringing at the sing-songy Happy birthday! Heather shouted at you.

You pulled open your cubby, gathering your purse, your umbrella. You wrote your time on the clipboard, the phone taunting you on the hook next to it. Any other day, you’d call Eddie- call home or the shop, wherever he was, just to let him know you’d be home early. He’d always reply with a silly comment that had your cheeks rushing with heat, warmth swelling in your chest.

Tonight, you decided against it. He was too busy, anyway. Too busy at the shop, with his friends, at band practice. You tried not to dwell on it, let your mind spiral and spin down a damning dark hole of what ifs. It consumed you anyways, on your drive home, the radio playing on a static filled station that you didn’t bother to change. Background noise drowned out by your own hammering heart.

Eddie’s van was parked in the gravel of his driveway, leaving just enough space for you to slide in under the covering attached to the trailer. He always let you have that spot, closer to the door, protected from the elements- so considerate.

It was hard to fathom that it was the same boy who had forgotten your birthday, brushed it off like it was just another day.

Your throat tightened around the ever growing lump, hands tight from the white knuckled grip you had on the wheel when you turned the keys out of the ignition. The stairs squeaked under your weight, the screen door hissing with the familiar soft screech when you pulled it open.

“No- Henderson, what the fuck is the matter with you?” Eddie huffed, his voice trailing in from the living room.

You paused, hand catching the door as it fell, quieting it as it latched. The air was thick, warm with a sticky, sweet smell. Music playing in a low hum from Eddie’s beloved boom box he kept in the living room.

“You said to hang it!” Dustin’s shrill tone cut through the air.

“Yeah, hang it high- Jesus Christ, I shoulda just waited until Robin got off.” Eddie was hidden by the wall, but you could practically see him pinching his nose, hand running over his curly bangs. “Can you- Can you go see if we can ice the cake yet?”

“Yeah, what do I do?” Dustin questioned, a silence falling between the two of them. Your lips curled, swallowing a giggle. “What? I’m not a master chef or something. You act like I should know this. There wasn’t a cake making class-”

“-There was, you moron. Home Ec, which clearly, you failed.” Eddie huffed in annoyance. You froze at his heavy footsteps, voice carrying closer and closer.“Whatever, can you- just make it look nice in here? Put the rest of the streamers up and- shit!” Eddie flinched, jumping at the sight of you in the doorway. Wide eyed and still, like you’d been caught.

“Baby,” Eddie’s breath startled. “Hey, uh, what are you- you said you didn’t get- you’re home already?” His voice lifted, carried high in a squeak of surprise.

“Yeah, I got off early. I thought you were working late.” Your brows furrowed at the tear of plastic, leaning to look around the corner. “What are you doing-”

“-Don’t look in there.” Eddie snapped, his hand falling on the doorframe, arm blocking your vision. You jumped, glaring at him with annoyance. “I thought you closed tonight?”

“I thought you closed tonight.” You huffed, arms crossing over your chest. “Clearly that’s not true. What is this? Another campaign night?” You rolled your eyes, body burning with irritation, jaw wound tight with it.

“What? N-No, I-I thought you wouldn’t be home until later, and I’d have more time-” Eddie rambled, side stepping to block your view behind him.

“-Ed, I don’t care if that’s what it is.” Your shoulders deflated, a wave of painful exhaustion, disappointment falling over you. “I just wish you would’ve let me know before you invite all these people over to play your game, so I could-” A shimmering glimmer of multicolored sequins caught your eyes, shining in the yellowed light of the kitchen, iridescent hued droplets cast over the cabinets. There, draped over the chair in bright, glittering letters, a small sash that read Happy Birthday! in obnoxiously big letters.

You paused, eyes scanning towards the cake, cooling on the rack next to the mixing bowl of icing, the icing spatula still in it. Paper mache streamers taped to the ceiling, hung in swooping bouts mixed with the shiny streamers and balloons all the way to the living room. Eddie had brought out the folding table from the crawl space, even put a plastic tablecloth from the store over it to hide the yellowing stains that would never fade.

Dustin’s eyes met yours, wide and darting between you and Eddie, still holding the roll of streamers he’d yet to hang. “Uh, Happy Birthday?” Dustin shrugged.

Eddie huffed, shaking his head at him. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry, it was supposed to be a surprise.” Eddie’s foot bounced with anxious adrenaline. “I thought you didn’t get off until eight, and-and I had it all planned, sweetheart, I really did. Steve’s getting the pizza, and everyone’s coming over at seven thirty-ish, and I- I was even going to have them park at Wayne’s in the back so you wouldn’t see.”

Your chest felt deflated, void of any air, words, anything. Eddie chewed on his lip, hands twitching next to his jeans. “It was going to be this whole thing, fuck!” He huffed. “It was going to be a whole big thing, and…”

Eddie’s heart leapt when your eyes finally met his. His fingers still drummed against the rough material of his jeans, veins filled with icy excitement, fear, anticipation? He wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie whispered, stepping to hover over you, voice dropping to a soft coo, hands sliding over your cheeks. “I’m- I wanted it to be a surprise.”

You swallowed thickly. Eddie’s touch was soft, but it left you with a tingling burn when his thumb delicately traced your cheek bone. “You- This is for me?” You squeaked.

Eddie’s lips curled in a half smile, brows creasing. “Well, yeah.” He said playfully. “Who else would it be for?”

Your brain was deafeningly silent, stunned at every new detail you’d discover. “You said you were busy.” Was all you could muster out, blinking up at Eddie. “You said you had to work late.”

“I might have fibbed a little.” Eddie tilted his head sillily. “Told a little lie so I could get this set up.” He nodded towards the living room, a balloon floating near the doorway.

“I just really wanted to surprise you.” Eddie’s shoulders fell. “I was trying to outdo you. Tryna out do what you did for mine. I called all your friends- even Alexandra,” You rolled your eyes at the mention, she was Eddie’s least favorite friend of yours.

“And I… I just wanted to surprise you.” Eddie blinked down at you. “Just wanted your day to be special.”

Your day, the phrase wrapped around you, swirled through your veins like a warm hug, squeezing your heart.

“I’m sorry, it… I didn’t think about work.” Eddie shook his head, running a hand over his forehead. “I didn’t even think about it, and I-”

“-Eddie,” Your voice caught in your throat.

Eddie tensed, cringing with expectant dread. He’d ruined it, blew it, the tears were coming and they were deserved. You’d done so well on his, surprised the hell out of him with the cake, decorated for his birthday campaign with lanterns and candles you’d thrifted. Gone all out for him, and he couldn’t even pull off a simple surprise party.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie whispered, head pressing to yours. His eyes cut around the room, making sure a certain Henderson pest was lurking.

“Sorry?” You repeated. “Eddie, I-I am surprised.” You choked out, looking around the room with gleaming eyes.

Eddie paused. “You are?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I thought you’d forgotten.” You admitted. “I thought everyone had forgotten.”

Eddie’s brows pinched in a confused scowl. “You thought I’d forget?” He muttered.

A watery laugh fell from your lips before you could stop it. “Yeah.” You admitted. “You were really convincing.”

Eddie’s chest boasted playfully. “Oscar worthy?”

“You’d sweep the competition.” You jested back, arms sliding over his forearms. His hands found home on the small of your waist, pulling you into him.

“I didn’t forget your birthday.” Eddie said softly. “Just… for the record.”

“I can see that.” You giggled. “Thank you. It’s-It’s really sweet.”

“Yeah? I’m glad you like it.” Eddie’s hands rubbed down your spine. “It would look better but… Robin and Nancy didn’t get off until later, and it’s just me and Henderson.”

“It looks great. Perfect.” Your cheek pressed to the soft cotton of his t-shirt. His nice shirt, Eddie always called it. Broke it out for special occasions.

“Not perfect. Fucked up the main part.” Eddie grumbled. “I can call everyone, let them know that they can park out front since there’s no surprise anymore.”

“No, don’t do that.” You shook your head lightly, chin propping against his chest to look up at him. “I’ll leave and come back, and you can still do it. I can pretend to be surprised.”

Eddie’s lips curled, pulling back to look down at you. “You’re gonna pretend?” He tilted his head.

“My turn to act.” You teased, brow lifting gently. “Give you some competition.” You poked his tummy playfully.

Eddie grinned, pulling you back into him, lips sliding over yours in a soft kiss you savored. Melting into each other, fusing into a gooey puddle- it was corny, a cliche. One you’d roll your eyes at if it was anyone else.

“Happy birthday.” Eddie muttered, lips brushing and tickling your own.

“Thank you.” You whispered back, hands finding the base of his neck, pushing him back into you. Eddie’s hand fell against the wooden door frame, steadying himself in a rapidly heating makeout.

“Uh,” Dustin’s voice interrupted the two of you, just as Eddie’s hands were sliding under your work blouse. “Yeah, I-I finished with the streamers.”

Eddie glared at him, jaw ticking in annoyance when you pulled away. “I’m just going to grab my makeup bag, and I’ll go.” You whispered, cheeks flooding with heat.

Eddie huffed, rolling his eyes at Dustin when you left. “What? What did I do?” Dustin threw his hands out.

“Such a fuckin’ cock block, Henderson.” Eddie muttered, stomping into the kitchen. “Put the plates and shit out, will ya?”

Your performance was Oscar worthy, Eddie decided later, when you stepped through the door of the now darkened trailer, gasping when the lights flickered on and everyone jumped out. You looked positively radiant, glowing with excitement at the small crowd of friends crammed into the doorway. Eddie kissed you, sloppier than he should have, especially in front of everyone, but he didn’t care. Overwhelmed with affection for you.

He couldn’t tell if you were still pretending when he brought out the cake, the room singing in a harmonious tone to you, candles lit and glowing in the dim light. Eddie didn’t miss the way your eyes sparkled, fingers pressed to your lips at the now iced cake. When your fingers curled under his chin, sharing a fork-full of cake with him, kissing him after so quickly it left his head spinning.

His birthday girl, it was your day. Eddie never thought he’d love a random day as much as he did. He had no idea how important that day would become when he’d first met you, how it would engrave itself in his mind forever.

He was glad it did. Looking at you, giggling with your friends on the couch, then again, the next night, singing with Heather at the crowded bar- Eddie’s chest heart swelled. Proud that he’d surprised you, hopeful that he’d get to for the rest of his life.

Next year, he’d do it right. Really pull off the party you deserved. He’d start saving now, planning too. He decided it that night, tucked between the sheets, your head still on his sweat soaked chest. He could still taste you on his tongue, lips numb from the time he’d spent between your legs. Lashes fluttering in sleep, curled into him, Eddie pulled you closer. He’d get it right next year, you deserved it.

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reimaybe · 7 days ago

Text

🎧: ‘cause you have to — lany

“wait for me, okay?”

those were the last words you heard from sae. honestly, it seemed like he wanted to say more, but he held back. with a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his parents weren’t watching, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead before walking away. you could’ve sworn his ears were tinged pink.

rin nudged you with a smirk, the kind that screamed mischief. “i saw that,” he muttered under his breath, grinning annoyingly. you rolled your eyes in response, brushing off his teasing.

still, those unsaid words lingered in your mind. you hoped they were what you thought they were. the three words that would have secured his spot in your future, the spot next to your bed, and the spot on your left ring finger. but even without saying them, you felt like you were already his. that kiss said enough.

a few years. that’s not too bad, right?

your relationship with sae during his early months in spain was great. though he wasn’t the type to communicate much, you could tell that he was actually trying. every few days, you’d get a call from him. one time, when you asked why he always opted to call instead of text, he simply responded, “typing is annoying.” in truth however, he just wanted to hear your voice.

but as the months passed, the calls grew less frequent. rin complained (and teased) especially, since you were the only one sae kept in touch with. you bribed rin with the popsicle sae used to buy to shut him up, and he immediately stopped sulking.

the turning point in your relationship came about a year after sae left. the calls turned into texts, reserved only for special occasions.

sae: happy birthday

[name]: i miss you

he left you on read, no response. after that, sae stopped reaching out entirely. your attempts to contact him went unanswered. you were his, but was he still yours?

no. was he ever yours to begin with?

in the three years without sae, you often felt like something was missing. the ache was subtle but constant. those years were especially hard: dealing with your studies, fending off a few persistent suitors, and enduring rin's teenage phase. honestly, you managed just fine. rin was great for scaring off suitors with a single glare, and you threw yourself into studying as a distraction. but the hardest part, the part you could never quite get used to, was the feeling of longing for someone halfway across the world.

once, you even tried to let someone else in, to open your heart just a little. and then you saw one of sae's interviews—calm, stoic, untouchable. that was all it took to slam your heart shut again. you felt sorry for the person you'd rejected, but not as sorry as you felt for yourself. you knew how pathetic it was to yearn for someone who probably didn’t even think of you.

now, at seventeen, you’re packing your life into boxes, shoving them into the back of a car. you hug your parents goodbye as they tearfully remind you to call often (which brought a dagger to your heart as you remember a specific someone), their voices cracking with pride and sadness. you’re not just leaving for university. you’re leaving behind everything—this house, this town, and the memories that haunted you.

and then, in a heartbeat, everything changed.

as you pulled out of the driveway, your thoughts consumed by all that you were leaving behind, the world outside blurred into an indistinct haze. a momentary distraction—a glance at your phone, a message from sae.

sae: i'm here. can we talk?

your heart dropped. why was he here, now of all times? you couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. you believed that he loved you—at least, the younger sae did. a part of you longed to believe that he still loved you like he did back then.

you loved him in that spring, and as much as you hated to admit it, you still loved him in this winter. but what about him? doubts began to creep in. maybe you had outgrown each other. maybe sae had outgrown you. maybe you’d become a distraction to him, dead weight—nothing but a reminder of a past he could no longer hold on to. perhaps this was just his way of giving you closure.

the questions lingered in your mind: “did you only love me because of that kiss? did you only love me because of the promises you made? does some part of you feel like you owe it to the boy you used to be? do you only love me ‘cause you have to?”

the screech of tires, the crunch of metal against metal, and then the darkness swallowed you whole. in those final moments, as the realization of what was happening crashed over you, the last remnants of sae’s voice echoed in your mind, blending with the chaos of the moment. you had been ready to leave it all behind, but now, it seemed, the goodbyes you gave would be your last.

“i’ll leave you two alone,” rin whispers, taking one last glance at your tombstone before walking away.

“sorry,” sae whispers. though there are a million things he wants to say, that's all he’s able to let out. afraid that if he talks any more, his facade will break down, and the carefully constructed walls he built around his heart will shatter under the weight of his grief. he wishes he could have been the one to love you more. he clenches his fists, feeling the sting of unshed tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

it hurts to know he will never hear your voice again, never be able to kiss your forehead again, and the crushing weight of it all leaves him hollow. a shell of the person he used to be, forever haunted by the knowledge that he let you slip away when he should have fought to keep you close.

“i'll take my leave now,” he whispers to rin, hands in his pockets with the coldest expression rin has ever seen.

the younger itoshi wanted to say something. fight in your stead for all the pain his elder brother had caused you, but he understood that causing a scene here wouldn’t be good.

plus, the tears on sae's face spoke enough.

#bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x reader #angst #heavy angst #blue lock angst #bllk angst #sae itoshi angst #itoshi sae angst

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novaursa · 4 months ago

Note

What about a Jace x sister

Where he fell in love with her and in the same time he is not ok with it. He might be the only Targaryen related who thinks that’s not okay to loved their related. But no matter how he can stopped loving her, she might have a look more “Targaryen” with white hair with some black in it (narcissia Malfoy style?)

He always do some weird shit to be closed to her without drow to much attention, And when they finally get really closed their mother call all the bastard to become dragon rider. And Ulf find them in the Pit and try to get something from them in exchange of his silence.

Jace wake up and choose violence 🫣 and just say no and fuxk her in front of him and say that if he say anything he make sure his dragon will eat him

Sins of the Blood

- Summary: Jacaerys always loved his sister, more than he should. It was wrong, he knew it, but the dragon in him claimed you as his long ago.

- Paring: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded the reader with Grey Ghost for the plot.

The sea breeze dances through the open halls of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant roar of the waves. You stand with Baela and Rhaena on the sun-warmed terrace overlooking the cliffs, the three of you bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Your laughter rings out, clear and melodic, mingling with the cries of the gulls that circle above.

Jacaerys Velaryon watches from a distance, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He knows he should not be here, should not be watching you so closely, but he cannot help himself. You, his sister, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, have been a constant presence in his life, a source of both comfort and confusion. His eyes trace the silver streaks in your hair, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, mingling with the deep brown inherited from your true father, though only you, he, and his mother know the truth.

He remembers when you were children, how you would chase each other through the halls of the Red Keep, your laughter infectious, your bond inseparable. He had always been protective of you, even when you didn’t need it. You were fierce, a dragon through and through, and yet, as you stand now with Baela and Rhaena, there is a softness to you, a grace that makes his breath catch in his throat.

"Do you remember the first time we flew together?" Baela’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. She grins at you, her violet eyes bright with the memory.

"Of course," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. "I thought Jace would never let me ride my own dragon, he was so worried."

Jace feels a pang at your words, both pride and regret mingling in his chest. He had always been overly cautious with you, more so than with Luke or Joffrey. Perhaps he had always known, even then, that his feelings for you were not entirely brotherly.

Rhaena giggles, leaning in closer to you. "He’s always been that way, hasn’t he? Always the protector, always looking after you."

You shrug, though the warmth in your eyes betrays your affection. "He cares. That’s just how he is."

Jace clenches his fists at his sides, torn between the pride that swells in him at your words and the guilt that gnaws at him for the thoughts he cannot seem to banish. He knows it is wrong—this desire that burns in him like dragonfire—but it is also undeniably a part of him, a flame that refuses to be extinguished.

Take what is yours. The words echo in his mind, a voice that is both his own and something darker, something ancient. The blood of the dragon runs hot in his veins, urging him to act, to claim what he believes is his by right. You are his sister, yes, but you are also so much more. You are the embodiment of everything he has ever wanted, ever desired.

You turn then, as if sensing his gaze, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, the world seems to stop. The laughter of Baela and Rhaena fades into the background, the sound of the waves dulls, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

"Jace," you call out, your voice breaking the spell. "Come join us!"

There is no hesitation in your invitation, no hint that you are aware of the storm raging inside him. You are just his sister, inviting him to share in the simple joy of the evening, oblivious to the battle he fights within.

He forces a smile, masking the turmoil beneath, and steps forward. "I was just enjoying the view," he says, his voice betraying nothing.

Rhaena giggles again, nudging Baela. "See, I told you he’s always watching over her."

Baela laughs, a sound like the tinkling of bells. "It’s because he’s a good brother."

The words cut deeper than they should, a cruel reminder of the line he cannot cross. He wants to be a good brother, he truly does. But the blood of the dragon does not care for such boundaries. The blood of the dragon demands more.

As he approaches, you smile up at him, that same smile that has always had the power to calm him, to soothe the fire within. But today, it only stokes the flames higher.

"Are you alright?" you ask softly, your eyes searching his face for something he cannot give.

He nods, the lie slipping easily from his lips. "Of course. Just… thinking."

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing look passing over your face. "You think too much, Jace. You always have."

He laughs, though it is a strained sound. "Someone has to, with you lot always running headlong into trouble."

Baela snorts. "As if you don’t love it."

He shrugs, unable to deny it. "Perhaps."

You laugh then, a sound so pure and unburdened that it twists something deep in his chest. How can you be so carefree, so unaware of the darkness that haunts him?

The conversation drifts to other things—plans for the next dragonride, the latest antics of your younger brothers—but Jace finds it hard to focus. His eyes keep returning to you, to the way the setting sun catches in your hair, to the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Every moment is a battle, every word a reminder of what he can never have.

Take what is yours. The voice whispers again, insistent, relentless.

He pushes it down, burying it beneath layers of duty, of honor, of love for his family. But it is there, always there, a part of him that he can never truly silence.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in shades of orange and gold, you turn to him once more, your expression soft, almost tender.

"Thank you, Jace," you say quietly.

He frowns, unsure of what you mean. "For what?"

You smile, and it is a smile that breaks him, because it is so full of warmth, of trust, of love. "For always being there. For always watching over me."

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "Always," he promises, and it is both a vow and a curse.

You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm, and the simple touch sends a shock through him, setting his nerves alight. For a moment, he forgets himself, forgets everything but you.

But then Baela speaks up, her voice pulling him back to reality. "We should head inside. It’s getting late."

You nod, but your eyes linger on his for a moment longer, as if searching for something, something you cannot name.

Jace watches as you turn away, following Baela and Rhaena back into the castle, your laughter fading into the evening air. He stays behind, his heart a tumult of emotion, his mind a battlefield.

He knows what he feels is wrong. He knows that he should push these thoughts away, should bury them deep where they can never see the light of day. But he also knows that the blood of the dragon is not so easily denied.

As the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky, Jace makes a silent vow to himself. He will protect you, he will care for you, as a brother should. But he will also fight this desire, this hunger that threatens to consume him. He will not let it destroy him, or you.

But deep down, he knows that it will be difficult.

And as he watches the last light of day fade into night, he wonders if it ever truly will be.

Months have passed since that evening on the terrace, and yet the fire within Jacaerys Velaryon has not dimmed. If anything, it has only grown stronger, a persistent heat that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to consume him at every turn. He has thrown himself into his duties, into training and studies, hoping that the rigor will burn away these unwanted desires. But nothing works. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the pull you have on him.

Today, he finds himself wandering through the halls of Dragonstone, his mind restless, his heart unsettled. The castle is quiet, the stillness only amplifying his thoughts. His feet carry him to the library, a place he knows you often retreat to when you seek solace or simply a moment of peace. He tells himself it is a coincidence, that he has come here to study, to distract himself with books and knowledge. But deep down, he knows the truth.

As he enters the library, the scent of aged parchment and ink greets him, a familiar comfort. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they find you, seated near the window, the light of the midday sun casting a soft glow around you. You are engrossed in a book, your silver-streaked hair falling over your face, your expression serene. The sight of you, so peaceful and unguarded, sends a wave of warmth through him, and before he can stop himself, he is walking towards you.

You look up as he approaches, a smile tugging at your lips. "Jace," you greet him, your voice soft and welcoming. "What brings you here?"

He hesitates, his mind racing for an excuse. "I thought I might find you here," he admits, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. "I wanted to see if you needed any help with your studies."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since when do you offer to help with my studies?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "I just thought... we haven't spent much time together lately. I miss it."

Your expression softens at his words, and you close the book in your hands, setting it aside. "I’ve missed it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He can feel the tension between you, a charged energy that crackles in the air. The pull is stronger now, a magnetic force that draws him closer, and before he knows it, he is sitting beside you, his body instinctively leaning towards yours.

"What are you reading?" he asks, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glance at the book, then back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "A history of Old Valyria. I’ve always been fascinated by our ancestors, by the dragons and the blood magic they wielded."

"Of course," he murmurs, though he hardly registers the words. He is too focused on the way your hand rests so close to his, the way your eyes seem to shimmer in the light. "Our blood is strong, isn’t it? The blood of the dragon."

You nod, your gaze holding his. "It is. It’s what makes us who we are."

The words resonate deep within him, a reminder of the truth he has tried so hard to ignore. The blood of the dragon is what binds you together, but it is also what drives him to the brink of madness. The fire that burns in his veins is not just a curse, but a part of him, a part of you. And he is no longer sure if he can continue to fight it.

"I wanted to ask you something," you say suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled between you.

He blinks, trying to focus. "What is it?"

You hesitate for a moment, as if gathering your thoughts. "I was wondering if you could help me with my dragon training. Grey Ghost is so much more... spirited than he used to be, and I thought maybe you could help me understand him better."

Jace swallows hard, the thought of spending more time with you, alone and away from prying eyes, sending a thrill through him. But it is also dangerous, more dangerous than anything he has faced before. Still, he finds himself nodding. "Of course. I’d be glad to help."

You smile, a smile that warms him from the inside out, and he knows he is lost. He cannot deny you, cannot deny himself any longer. The pull is too strong, the fire too fierce. And as you rise to your feet, gesturing for him to follow, he feels that pull tighten, like a chain around his heart, binding him to you.

The two of you walk side by side through the corridors of Dragonstone, the silence between you comfortable, yet charged with an unspoken tension. Your presence is a balm to him, calming and yet igniting something deep within, something he can no longer ignore. Every brush of your arm against his, every glance in his direction, fans the flames higher, until he feels as though he might burst from the sheer force of it.

When you reach the courtyard where the dragons are kept, you turn to him, your eyes bright with excitement. "Let’s start with the basics," you say, your voice full of eagerness. "You’ve always been better at this than I am."

Jace shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "It’s not about being better," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It’s about understanding them, forming a bond with them."

You nod, your attention fully on him now, and he feels a surge of pride at the trust you place in him. "I know," you say softly. "And I trust you to help me."

The words strike him like a blow, the weight of your trust almost too much to bear. He wants to be worthy of it, to be the brother you believe him to be. But he also wants more, so much more, and it terrifies him.

As you step closer to him, your arm brushing against his, he feels that pull again, stronger than ever. He knows he should move away, put some distance between you, but he cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, he finds himself leaning in, his body drawn to yours like a moth to flame.

"You know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I’ve always felt safest when I’m with you."

The confession catches him off guard, and he looks down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why?"

You smile up at him, a gentle, almost shy smile. "Because you’ve always been there for me, Jace. No matter what."

His breath catches in his throat, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. The pull between you is undeniable now, a force of nature that neither of you can resist. And as you stand there, so close that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, he knows that he is about to cross a line that he can never return from.

But before he can act, before he can make the decision that will change everything, you reach out and take his hand in yours, your fingers curling around his. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he is lost, completely and utterly lost.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken.

He looks down at you, his heart in his throat, and he knows that this is it. This is the moment he has been dreading, the moment he has been craving. The pull between you is too strong, the fire too fierce, and he knows that there is no going back.

But then, as if sensing the turmoil within him, you give his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes full of warmth and understanding. "Thank you," you say, your voice soft and sincere. "For always being there."

And just like that, the moment passes. The tension between you eases, and you step back, releasing his hand. The pull is still there, still strong, but it is no longer overwhelming. For now, it is enough to simply be with you, to feel your presence beside him, to know that you trust him.

As you turn your attention back to the dragons, Jace takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The battle within him is far from over, but for now, he has won a small victory. He has resisted the pull, resisted the fire. But he knows it is only a matter of time before the dragon within him demands more.

And when that time comes, he is not sure if he will be able to resist.

The winds howl around the jagged peaks of Dragonmont, the volcanic heart of Dragonstone. The sky above is dark, thick clouds swirling in ominous patterns, but here, beneath the shelter of the mountain, you and Jacaerys find solace in the company of your dragons. Vermax and Grey Ghost, their massive forms partially obscured by the mist that clings to the rocky terrain, rest quietly nearby, their watchful eyes ever alert.

The air between you and Jace is charged, as it has been for days now. Since the arrival of the Dragonseeds and the beginning of the Red Sowing, there has been an unspoken tension, a shared anxiety that neither of you has fully voiced. Today, it seems, that silence is about to be broken.

Jace paces before you, his brow furrowed, his steps uneven. "I can’t help but worry," he finally says, his voice low, almost a growl. "Mother’s decision to let these Dragonseeds try to claim the dragons… it could destroy everything. The only thing that sets us apart, that makes us legitimate in the eyes of the realm, is our bond with the dragons. What happens if anyone can do it? What happens if they succeed?"

You watch him, feeling the weight of his concern settle over you like a heavy cloak. You understand his fear; it echoes within you as well. "They are Targaryen bastards, Jace," you say softly, trying to find the right words. "The blood of the dragon runs in their veins, even if the world doesn’t see them as we are seen. But you are right to be cautious. We cannot control what might happen if they succeed. But we can control how we respond."

He stops pacing, turning to face you fully. His dark eyes are intense, filled with worry and something deeper, something you’ve seen growing there in recent days. "What if it shatters everything? What if the realm no longer sees us as the rightful heirs? If they can claim dragons, what does that mean for us?"

You rise from your seat on a smooth outcropping of rock, moving closer to him, your steps slow and deliberate. You can feel the warmth of the dragons nearby, the heat from the mountain beneath your feet, but most of all, you feel the heat radiating from Jace, a fire that matches your own.

"We are more than our dragons," you say, your voice steady. "We are the blood of the dragon, yes, but we are also our mother’s children, the heirs of House Targaryen. That will not change, no matter what happens with the Dragonseeds."

Jace’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the storm in his eyes momentarily easing. "You always know what to say," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid of what this means for us, for our family."

You reach out, your hand finding his, and the contact sends a spark through you both. "Then we face it together," you say firmly, your fingers tightening around his. "Whatever comes, we face it together, as we always have."

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the kind of silence that speaks louder than words. The dragons are quiet too, their presence a comforting weight in the background. Jace’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

Without thinking, you step closer, and suddenly the space between you is gone. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and unsteady, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear. The pull between you is stronger than ever, an undeniable force that you can no longer resist.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken, something that has been building for so long.

He doesn’t reply, at least not with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both hesitant and eager, as if he is afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands moving to cup his face, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks, months, perhaps even years, pouring out in that single moment. It is as if the fire that has always burned between you has finally found release, and there is no stopping it now.Jace’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the desperation in his touch, the need that mirrors your own. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"So have I," you admit, the words coming out in a breathless rush. "Jace, I—"

He silences you with another kiss, more urgent this time, and you can feel his hands moving to the fastenings of your attire. There is a moment of hesitation, a final chance to turn back, but neither of you takes it. Instead, you help him, your fingers trembling as they work to undo his clothing as well.

The air is cool against your skin as your garments fall away, but you hardly notice. All you can focus on is Jace, on the way his hands move over your body, on the way he looks at you as if you are the only thing that matters in the world. And perhaps, in this moment, you are.

He guides you down onto the warm rock, his movements careful, almost reverent. The heat from the mountain seeps into your skin, mixing with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself trembling, not from fear, but from anticipation.When he finally joins with you, the pain is brief, a sharp sting that quickly fades, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected to him. Jace pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for your permission to continue.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat, but the look in your eyes says everything. "Please," you whisper, and that is all it takes.

He begins to move, slow at first, almost tentative, but as the moments pass, the hesitation fades, replaced by a growing urgency, a passion that neither of you can control. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on, meeting his every movement with your own.

The world around you fades, the sounds of the dragons, the wind, the distant roar of the sea, all becoming nothing more than a distant echo. There is only Jace, only the fire that burns between you, the flames that consume you both, driving you higher and higher until you feel as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it.

Just as you reach the peak of your union, lost in the sensation of him, you hear a sound, the soft crunch of footsteps on the volcanic rock. Your eyes snap open, and you see him—Ulf the White, one of the Dragonseeds, standing a short distance away, his expression one of surprise and amusement.

Jace’s movements slow as he becomes aware of the intruder, but he doesn’t stop, his body still pressed intimately against yours. His eyes narrow, and you can feel the tension in him, the protective instinct that flares up at the sight of another man watching you in such a vulnerable moment.

Ulf’s smirk widens as he recognizes both of you, his voice carrying an easy confidence as he speaks. "Well, well, what do we have here? Prince Jacaerys and his fair sister, indulging in some… private time, I see."

Jace doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on Ulf, his body shielding yours from view. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous. "You will leave now, Ulf. And you will speak of this to no one."

Ulf’s amusement doesn’t fade. "And if I don’t? I imagine this little secret could be worth quite a bit."

Jace’s expression hardens, the dragon within him rising to the surface. "I have another proposition for you. Leave now and never speak of this, or tell someone… and Vermax will feast on your bones."

The threat hangs in the air, thick with the promise of violence. Ulf’s smile falters, the realization of Jace’s seriousness sinking in. He glances at the dragons, both Vermax and Grey Ghost now fully alert, their eyes locked on him, and he takes an involuntary step back.

"Fine," Ulf mutters, the bravado gone from his voice. "Your secret’s safe with me, Prince Jacaerys. I was never here." With that, he turns and hurries away, casting one last nervous glance at the dragons before disappearing into the mist.

Jace watches him go, his body still tense, but as the danger passes, his attention shifts back to you, his focus returning to the moment you had both been lost in. The fire that had momentarily cooled begins to burn again, his hands finding yours, his gaze intense.

"I will marry you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "In the traditions of our ancestors, in the ways of Old Valyria. You are mine, and I am yours, for now and forever."

The words send a shiver through you, the weight of them, the promise in them, filling you with a sense of certainty, of belonging. You nod, your voice trembling as you respond. "Yes, Jace. Yes."

And as he moves within you once more, the world around you falls away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by the fire of your blood.

#house of the dragon #hotd reader insert #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #jacerys velaryon #jace x y/n #jace x you #jace x reader #jacerys x reader #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader

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yawnderu · 11 months ago

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SIMP — König x Reader

It's a game he's grown used to throughout the months, blaming it purely on muscle memory the moment his muscular frame moves with agility, pulling his debit card out of his wallet and putting it down next to your hand, not daring to touch you or talk to you yet— he doesn't deserve it.

Half-lidded blue eyes watch with a mix of anxiety and excitement as you pick up his card, not sparing him a single glance as the long acrylics he paid for tap against your phone screen, scrolling multiple online stores before you find something you like.

“Come here.” The way he scurries over to you is almost enough to make you feel sorry for him. Almost. König doesn't waste any time on joining you in bed, holding his strong body over yours, his gaze inevitably drifting down to your ass as you present it to him, teasing him in a pair of panties he bought you last time you met.

“That's a good boy.” Even if your tone is sarcastic, König takes in the mocking praise, pride filling his twisted soul. He allows himself to lay some of his weight on you, slowly rubbing his hardening, clothed cock against your ass, thrusting at a pace gentle enough to make you feel more of him, despite the way you choose to ignore his advances.

“Buy anything you want, Meine Königin. My entire paycheck is there...” He closes his eyes, choosing the ignore the pit of anxiety building up inside him at the idea of you leaving him with nothing, calming himself down by planting ghost kisses along your shoulders and bare back, taking in the scent of your expensive shampoo.

Did I buy that for you, or was it another client? Not even the soldiers who have betrayed König's team can compare to how much of an enemy his own brain is. Jealousy is quick to set in, his bare hand drifting down to your hip and squeezing— not hard enough to make you up and leave, but hard enough to remind himself that you're there with him, not with another man.

“Oh?” He climbs through the ranks with more excitement ever since he met you, knowing he'll have more money to win you over with.

“Good boys get rewarded, don't they?” König doesn't even realize when the big, brooding soldier used as a battering ram became so pathetic, vigorously nodding his head to your words.

“You can fuck my panties. Ruin them again and it's coming out of your paycheck.” Your little threat goes in one ear and right out the other. The only thing he focused on was your permission, pale cheeks growing slightly warm and he wastes no time on pulling his needy, thick cock out of his pants, his gaze fixated on the pair of panties hugging your curves.

With a low groan, he slides his throbbing dick between the fabric of your panties, the friction sending shivers down his spine. His rough, calloused fingers dig into your skin as he starts to thrust, his movements rough and possessive.

“Fuck. Keep... keep using my card, Engel.” He manages to mutter between gritted teeth, his voice laced with desire and need. König's needy groans ring around the room, mixing in with your nails tapping your phone screen as you browse a different store, catching his eye.

Lingerie. The fact that your faith in him is so little to the point you know he's going to ruin yet another pair of panties makes him smirk, his hips slamming against your ass with more force. Truth to be told, he doesn't have any faith in himself either.

“I wonder if I should spend it all on the same place.” You think out loud, knowing König well enough to fully realize what he's into. The knowledge that you'll drain his hard-earned money makes his cock throb, feeling his precum staining your panties and skin, the evidence of his desire mingling with the fabric.

“Anything you need— Scheiße. Use it however you want, take it all.” The raw need for approval in his tone and words makes you laugh softly, only fueling his desire for more, his tired eyes closing again as his forehead rests on your warm back, his dick sliding between your plump ass cheeks, letting the warmth wrap around him.

König adjusts his position, his cock throbbing in his hand as he aligns himself with your puckered hole. It's a reward he gets whenever he lets you use his entire paycheck— not deserving of fucking your pussy until he gets another promotion.

With a steady, controlled thrust, he slowly pushes himself into your hole, applying more pressure when he hears your small whimper. A low moan escapes his lips the moment your tight hole gives him, allowing him to feel the tightness and warmth surrounding him, waves of pleasure coursing through his body like lightning.

“Where did you learn how to fuck? It's awful.” König's breath hitches at your degradation, a mix of arousal and vulnerability washing over him. He continues to thrust into your ass, rolling his muscular hips as he tries to prove himself to you.

“I can do better.” He promises in a muffled whisper, biting his lip to stop himself from cumming too soon. With renewed determination, he adjusts his rhythm, finding a pace that has you gripping the sheets, even when you try to act all high and mighty with him. His hips slam against your ass with an increased, newfound intensity, his thrusts becoming more powerful and precise just to please you.

“Too big for your own good.” König lets out a quiet whimper at your words, feeling his cock throb inside your pulsating, tight ass, the familiar knot in his stomach tightening up when he sees you grabbing your phone again, biting your thumb to prevent yourself from moaning as you scroll on a different luxury shop.

$1750.

His eyes widen when he sees the lingerie set that caught your eye, anxiety and desire mixing together while he rams into you faster, making your entire body shake at the sensation of every single nerve being massaged by his veiny, pathetic cock.

König almost knocks the air out of you the moment more of his weight is placed over you, slamming himself into your ass as deep as possible, his balls tightening up as ropes of thick, hot cum shoot into your ass the moment he sees the purchase was completed.

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honeyedmiller · 6 months ago

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When in Positano | Javier Peña

javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors do not interact

warnings: light alcohol consumption, smut (fingering, f & m oral receiving, unprotected piv, major breeding kink, ass slaps), talks of starting a family, an insane amount of fluff, javi is a romantic at heart, bits of spanish with translation, frequent pov switching, no use of y/n.

word count: 6.1k

synopsis: honeymooning in italy with your husband is a dream, especially when he reveals he wants to start a family with you.

a/n: this has been in my wips / drafts since january- and then i ultimately decided to change the whole plot of this bc i've been in a soft mushy mood for husband x reader lately. shoutout to @ilovepedro (ily) for beta'ing this baby for me. hope you enjoy <3

It was times like this that you could hardly believe this was your life.

The morning sun had shown her golden rays through the linen curtains that danced with the wind, illuminating your villa brilliantly. The first thing you get to see when your eyes flutter open is your husband, unknowingly basking in the golden light of the morning.

You stretch your sore limbs, the glint of your wedding ring in the light catching your attention. You can't help the smile that spreads across your lips, eyes shifting down to the man next to you once again.

You study his peaceful features as if you were sketching him from memory — tan, warm skin; dark, thick hair; a mustache that always tickles the tiniest bit when he’d kiss you anywhere on your body; a strong, angular nose; long lashes that fan his cheeks; and plush, pink lips that were slightly parted as he breathed steadily.

The only thing you miss dearly in sight at that very moment are his beautiful brown eyes. The same eyes that had you hooked from the very first time your gaze fell upon them.

Your eyes travel down to his muscular arms — the same arms that always hold you tight and protect you, all the way down to his torso and his naked, but covered, lower half.

Your eyes snap up to his gorgeous face once more, reaching your hand out to trace featherlight lines over his smooth skin. You cup his cheek, leaning forward in the slightest to kiss his nose. His brows scrunch in reaction as he finally stirs awake.

He groans softly as he instinctively wraps an arm around you, bringing your bare body flush to his. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, taking advantage of your proximity to him as you start peppering kisses all over his face.

You pull back and he peeks one sleepy eye open, a half smile immediately forming on his face.

“Buenos días, mi amor.” [good morning, my love] He whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Buenos días, mi esposo.” [good morning, my husband] You beam, and he gently grabs your left hand — the one that decided to caress his face once more — and looks down at it with pride, seeing the wedding band and engagement ring together. It’s something he’ll never tire of.

“Still can’t believe you said ‘I do’.” He chuckles, bringing your hand up to his lips so he can kiss your ring.

“I’d say those two words in a million lifetimes with you, Javier.” You whisper, and his soft brown eyes look up at you in pure adoration.

“Mi vida.” [my life] He shakes his head in disbelief, an undeniable grin etching itself upon his plush lips.

You said I do to each other just seventy-two hours ago, and you both have been luxuriating in the blissful feeling of forever.

Javier surprised you with your dream vacation destination as your honeymoon, and you cried in happiness on your twelve hour flight as you both made your way to Italy.

You don’t know what you did to deserve such a man as Javier, and you truly don’t think you’ll ever comprehend how you got to marry him. What you do know, is that you’re the luckiest woman alive.

Little do you also know, he feels the same exact way about you.

“I love you.” The words flow naturally, easily, and he gives you a look that makes you want to give him the whole universe. Fuck, if you could, you would.

This man—the man that has endured so much in his past, only to open up his heart to you and only you—to protect you, cherish you, and love you the way he does, is a man that deserves everything gracious and peaceful this world has to offer.

And if you told him those exact words, he’d kiss you searingly and tell you that you are his grace, his peace, his god-given solace. You are the reason his heart beats, his days are brighter, his world spins on its axis. You’re everything to him and he’d show you time and time again just so.

“I love you too, cariño.” [honey] His voice is softer, a voice only reserved for you. Underneath the harsh exterior and the stern brow he always wears, there’s a softness that he carries when it’s just you two in the confines of your own space. You always greet him at the door when he comes home, pressing a kiss between his furrowed brows, wrapping your arms around him before telling him “welcome home.” He always relaxes under your touch, and knowing you’re his peace makes pride bloom in your chest.

Your heart aches in the best way possible with how much you love your husband, and your faithfulness and devotion to him will never, ever waver.

Javi buries his face into your neck and leaves a trail of kisses up to your jaw, mustache hairs tickling your skin as he nibbles on your chin playfully.

“What’s on the agenda today, baby?” He asks, hand gliding up the soft skin of your torso, thumb brushing just beneath your breast. The ghost of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you grin lazily as you look at him.

“I was thinking about the street market we passed yesterday, and maybe a new restaurant?” You say, running a hand through his thick brown locks. You twirl a longer piece at the nape of his neck around your finger, and he begins to kiss your collarbone languidly.

He hums in thought, kisses trailing down to the swell of your breasts. You cradle the back of his head gently, not particularly wanting him to stop, but also aware that you should really get out of bed and enjoy the beauty of Positano while you can. Your fingers release his head and skate down to his back, gently double tapping the space between his shoulder blades.

“We should really get up, amor.” [love] Your tone isn’t convincing enough even to yourself, and Javi rests his chin on your sternum as he looks at you with a glimpse of mischief in his eyes.

“Can I enjoy the sweet taste of my wife first?” His tone is more of a statement than a question, and you can’t help but laugh at his eagerness. Truthfully, if it were up to him, you two probably wouldn’t leave the bedroom very much in the week and a half you get to spend here. To you, Italy was paradise, but to Javier, you were his.

He could spend days with his face – or cock – buried between your thighs, savoring every moment of your addicting taste and tight cunt.

“Only if you let me pick the restaurant.” You negotiate poorly, and even then, Javier sports a grin that lights up the whole room. The sun and her radiance doesn’t even nearly hold a candle to your husband’s smile.

“Deal.” He murmurs, lips marking their territory down your sternum. Before he gets any further, he kisses both of your breasts before enveloping a nipple into his mouth. You suck in a breath at the feeling, the sensation shooting straight down to your already needy and aching core.

Something of a whine escapes you, tugging on his hair as you arch your back off the mattress. You can feel his smug smirk against your skin before he switches sides, relishing the other pert bud before letting go with a small pop.

The anticipation is building up much quicker than you expected, and you’re squirming beneath Javi as his lips ghost your stomach, moving down the bed before uncovering your bottom half.

A lazy grin appears on his lips as he takes in the sight of your puffy, glistening pussy, ready for his tongue to drink you up like you’re the finest nectar on the planet.

Javier tsks at the sight teasingly, swiping his middle finger through your folds, preening at your receptiveness to his touch as your hips buck toward his mouth involuntarily. “Now who made my beautiful wife this wet and needy, hm?” He asks, moving his face down to kiss the supple skin of your thigh before biting down gently.

You yelp in surprise, looking down at him only to find him sporting a shit-eating grin. The word wife makes you even needier, loving the fact that you belong to him.

“You, mi corazón [my heart]. Solo tú.” [only you]

Javi closes his eyes at the endearment, nestling his cheek to your thigh as he breathes in a few times. He feels like he’s in an alternate reality where his dream woman just dropped out of the sky, and he gets to spend the rest of his life with her.

But this is real, you’re real, and he nearly has to pinch himself to prove that you aren’t a figment of his imagination. He gets to spend eternity with you, and he deems himself the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

He opens his eyes and his gaze meets yours once more, and you can’t help but reach out for his face. You look so ethereal to him as the golden rays fall upon your body, making you glow like a goddess. Your head is back against the pillows as you watch him with an adoring gaze from above, and he truly has no words to ever conjure up just how much he loves you.

And, for a moment, as he’s watching you watch him, his eyes flicker down to your stomach. Javier never thought he’d be a man who wants to have kids in his life. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d ever be able to get married, let alone to a gem such as yourself.

You’ve given him a softer life; a life full of love and happiness—a complete one-eighty from his time in Colombia—and a house to call a home, albeit you being his home no matter where you two are. You’d also be the one to be able to give him the ultimate gift: fatherhood.

He sweeps his reeling thoughts to the back of his mind for now, his main focus averting back to you and pleasing you until you’re screaming his name.

With that thought in mind, he wastes no more time before he gives your pretty, glistening pussy a kiss, delving his tongue into your folds right after.

You gasp at the sensation, eyebrows pinching together as his muscle works your nerves expertly as he’s done countless times before. He traces the tip of his tongue through your folds, up to your clit and flicks it a few times before moving back down to your entrance. He prods the muscle inside and dutifully fucks you with his tongue, the pace delicious as his nose bumps your clit repeatedly in the process.

You grip onto his hair, hips bucking into his face in tandem with the stroke of his tongue.

You can’t help but cry out his name repeatedly, and he feels prideful that he’s the only one that can make you feel this good.

Javi’s mouth separates from your dripping cunt, bottom half of his face shiny with the taste he loves oh so much.

“Taste like a dream, muñequita.” [doll] He breathes, sliding his hand down to grip your thigh as the other toys with the slick on your pussy. He kisses your thigh again and he looks up at you trying to catch your breath. Your head already feels fuzzy at the immense pleasure your husband’s tongue brings you, and to top it off, he slides his middle and ring finger into you.

He keeps his eyes on your face and watches as you unravel, pumping his fingers in and out of you. He makes sure to curl his fingers to hit the very specific spot he knows you like, and when he does, you lose all resolve. You crumble under his touch as your arousal seeps out of you and down his fingers, coating his wedding band in your juices as they flow down to his wrist.

“So fucking pretty, baby. You like when I fuck you with my fingers?” He asks, and you nod without hesitation.

“Words, corazón.” [heart]

“Fuck–fuck, yes, Javi, oh, god-” You cry, and he squeezes your thigh before diving back down to lap up your pussy once more. The combination of his tongue and fingers is absolutely lethal—you know you aren’t going to last much longer.

Javier is the matchbox to your match, dragging, dragging, dragging you along. The coil in your core is wound up so tight that within seconds, you break and light aflame.

You cry out his name, the sound of your own desperate plea reverberating off of the four walls of the villa’s bedroom eagerly.

You feel like you’re gushing everywhere—his fingers, his mouth, the bedsheets—and it’s pure ecstasy when he blows out the flame, your body the smoke as you dissipate into the luxury of a devastatingly euphoric bliss.

Javi drags his lips up your thigh, to your torso, all the way up to your jaw before capturing your lips in a searing kiss as you both share the taste of you on his tongue.

He hums into the kiss and separates from you, bringing his slick-coated fingers to your mouth. You huff a laugh as you eagerly lick the arousal off of his wedding ring and up his digit, popping both of them into your mouth and suck them until they’re clean.

Javi’s cock is impossibly hard now, but he knows how badly you want to explore the beautiful city. So, he pushes his urges down for now, though you’d likely gladly take his cock into that pretty mouth of yours and suck him dry.

He groans as he gets up from the bed, giving you another chaste kiss before he trudges to the bathroom to retrieve a towel to clean you up. Your eyes follow him as you lay on your side, head propped up by your hand. You study his figure unashamedly, admiring your husband and his bare form in all of its glory. Long legs, toned arms, tan skin, and of course, that insanely cute ass of his—and he’s all yours. Every inch of his beautiful body, face, and mind is yours.

He walks out of the bathroom with a towel in hand, and you can’t help but admire his impressive length. He teasingly throws the towel at you and you catch it, and before you can protest, his body is hovering over yours.

“Someone can’t keep their eyes to themselves, hm?” He quirks a brow at you.

“Well excuse me for admiring my husband and how sexy he is.” You retort, and he can’t help the guttural laugh that escapes his belly.

“You’re something else, you know that?” His tone is playful, snatching the towel from you as he cleans you up.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as you give him a stern look, and he meets your gaze with a boyish grin.

“You’re the one who married me. That’s on you.” You say, and he grabs your shoulders after tossing the towel onto the floor before giving you a light shake.

“And it’s been the best decision of my life, muchas gracias.” [thank you very much]

You roll your eyes before leaning up and giving him a kiss, tapping his thigh as you pull apart.

“Up and at ‘em, baby. Italy is waiting for us.”

You watched Javi as he bought some fresh fruit from a vendor at the street market, patrons bustling on the side as they enjoyed the beautiful weather and scenery before them. The water was a brilliant hue of blue, tying in the bright colors and coastal landscaping Positano had to offer.

Javi holds out his arm for you after he purchases the fruit, and you gladly cling onto his bicep as you make your way down the street. You stop for a moment to look at him and admire his outfit—bright blue shirt that contrasted beautifully against his tan skin, and some white pants paired with brown loafers.

He gave you a face when you originally suggested the shoes to him because it simply wasn’t something he’d ever wear, but they were insanely comfortable and undoubtedly great for walking, deeming you right once more.

“Mi esposa always knows what’s best,” [my wife] He’d said.

Javi peels an orange for you both to share, splitting it in half and hand feeding you the slices. You bite the tip of his finger playfully, and he can’t help but admire the buttery sweet sound of the laugh that emanates you.

You hum at the citrus taste of the orange, closing your eyes in delight at how fresh it is.

“That’s delicious.” You say aloud, and Javi looks at you while sliding his aviators down the bridge of his nose.

“It is, but nothing compares to the taste of you.”

Your face heats up at his words, hiding it in the crook of his neck for a second while letting out a mumbled ‘behave’ from you.

He’s smug when you pull your face back from the warmth of his body, and you lightly swat his chest in mock-chastise.

“You hungry, mamí?” He pulls a food guide of local restaurants out from his back pocket, and you nod eagerly.

“For more than just food.” You murmur, slotting your arms onto his broad shoulders, letting one hand dangle and the other play with the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands instinctively grab onto your waist and he pulls your body flush to his.

“Now who needs to behave, hm?”

“Still you.” You beam.

“Smartass.” He retorts with a chuckle.

“Maybe. But you love me.”

“That I do, bebita,” [baby girl] He leans in for a kiss before handing you the food guide, and you briefly scan the options.

“How about some pizza?”

The restaurant reminds you of your first date with Javier. You remember how much he tried to impress you, and even then, you knew he was someone special. To end up here with him in Italy eating the most delicious pizza and drinking the crispest glass of wine four years later seems like a total fever dream.

Javi raises his glass up to you, giving you his infamous puppy dog eyes and the softest smile you think you’ve ever seen on him. “Cheers to you, amor de me vida,” [love of my life] “You make me the happiest man alive. You’ve given me everything I could wish for and then some, and your beautiful heart and soul never ceases to amaze me.”

Tears prick your eyes as you raise your glass to clink against his, sipping the Prosecco in your glass. You reach for his left hand across the table, bringing his knuckles up to your lips as you kiss them and his wedding band repeatedly.

“I love you, Javier Peña. Thank you for giving me a life well beyond my wildest dreams. I’d do anything for you. It’s me and you against the world, baby.”

“I’ll never know how a bastard like me got so goddamn lucky. You’re a godsend, corazón,” [heart] “What if we had an addition to our world?” He asks, voice almost shy as he tries to gauge your reaction.

“What do you mean, mi amor?” [my love]

”How do you feel about starting a family? With me?”

He’s hopeful with the way he stares at you, squeezing your hand as he awaits your answer.

“Is that something you want, baby? I know a while back you said you weren’t too sure.”

You’d love to have a family with Javier. The thing was, he wasn’t too sure of that awhile back when things really got serious between you two. You were a little crushed by the prospect of not having kids with the love of your life, but you’d learn to make do. It was never a dealbreaker for you specifically, but you’ve always felt like you were meant to be a mom.

“I’m sure now. I love the sound of having a little one of us running around. We don’t need to rush into it, though. I just—I want this with you, and I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Well, besides asking you to be mine para siempre.” [forever]

You try to not let your emotions overwhelm you in the moment. The man sitting in front of you has you in pure awe, with the way a softness has wrapped itself around his heart, showing him that this side of life is full of warmth and love. He’s gradually learned to accept it, unlearning all of the harsh stoicism that seized his being in the past.

“You’d be the best daddy, Javier Peña. No doubt in my mind.”

His face gleams with joy as he brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle individually.

“And you’d be the best mommy, Mrs. Peña.”

Your heart flutters at the sound of your new last name. You still genuinely cannot believe you’re married to this man.

“Chucho is probably going to ask when we’re going to give him grandbabies.”

Javier can’t help but laugh, knowing full well his father would undoubtedly ask that question as soon as you two get back to Texas.

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you. “We should start practicing now then, mamí. Wouldn’t wanna keep him or the rest of the family waiting.”

A sheen of sweat coats your brow and chest as you arrive back to your villa with Javi. The walk itself wasn’t far but the warm weather was starting to get to you. And yet, as soon as you walked through the doors of the bedroom, he was on you.

He was kissing your pulse point while his hands roamed over your body with fervor, skimming over the cotton material of the sundress you were wearing. You giggle as his mustache tickles your neck, playfully nudging him.

“Javi, baby, I’m all sticky and sweaty. Let me take a shower first.”

He hums at your words, continuing the assault of his lips down your jugular before nibbling on your hot skin. His grip on your waist tightens before he leads you backwards into the bathroom, hands moving down to your ass before giving it a playful slap. He spins you around so you’re both facing the huge mirror above the double vanity, and his hands settle onto your stomach.

His eyes travel down to where his hands are as he starts to rub his thumbs back and forth. The look of pure love in his eyes was enough to tell you how badly he really wants to be a father. You reach an arm back to cradle the side of his face, craning your neck to the side to give his cheek a kiss.

“Can you just imagine growing a life that’s half you and half me in here? Nuestro hijo o hija. You’d be glowing even more than you do now, mi amor.” [our son or daughter ; my love]

Your gaze snaps back up to his face, his usual stoic brow softened at the idea of you carrying his child. You didn’t think you could fall in love with this man even more, but picturing him taking your newborn baby out of the carseat after coming home from the hospital and seeing their tiny body resting against his chest in comfort, against someone so loving and so familiar, gives you an indescribable amount of butterflies.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror once more, and you can’t help but give him a soft smile. Both of you are well aware that no words can ever come close to describing the emotions that flow through your minds and hearts, but somehow still connect perfectly like a puzzle piece.

It’s sacred, your love with Javi, and it’s something you’ll both pour into your future child endlessly.

Javi’s lips find your neck once more, fingertips skating over the sticky flesh of your arms before settling on the straps of your dress. His lips move to your shoulder as he slips one strap off, then the other, and tugs down gently so the fabric falls and pools at your feet.

You’re bare on top, and Javi takes advantage of the beautiful sight and kneads your breasts with his hands. You can’t help the way your head lolls back onto his shoulder, biting your lip as he tweaks both nipples simultaneously.

“My beautiful wife.” He whispers, trailing a hand down your torso and over the fabric of your panties, teasingly rubbing you through the thin material. A gasp evades you as the familiar low ache bubbles in your core once again.

“Javi,” You gasp, hand flying up to steady yourself as you grab the side of his neck.

“Fuck, I love the way you say my name.”

Your ass presses against his front, and you feel his cock harden in his pants. You turn around to face him and he grabs your hips instinctively before pulling you forward so you’re flush to his body. He leans in to kiss you ferociously, hands sliding down to grab your ass as you toss your arms over his shoulders.

You stay like that for a minute just enjoying the simplicity in the art of kissing your husband before reaching down to unbutton his shirt. You slide the material off of his shoulders before moving down to his pants, palming his cock teasingly. He groans into your mouth and kisses you like a starved man, backing you toward the shower. You slide his jeans off of his hips once he’s stagnant and he steps out of them, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

Before you two can continue your escapades, he gives your forehead a kiss before turning on the shower to a temperature comfortable for you both. You slide your panties off and he mirrors your actions, sliding his boxers off before you both step inside.

The lukewarm water cools your skin briefly before Javi steps under the stream, face up toward the water. You watch as the droplets stream down his face, to his neck and shoulders, down his torso and down down down into the dark, wiry hairs that sit below his navel and above his delicious length.

Your mouth is practically salivating at the sight before you, and you need to have a taste of your husband.

Your hands are gentle on his torso before they drag down, your body lowering with them until you’re on your knees. Javi looks down at you with his lips parted and a wild look in his eye.

You lick your lips and smirk at him before pushing on his thighs, backing him up so he sits down onto the bench in the shower. You scoot forward on your knees, admiring your man from below as his thighs spread wide and his hard cock is already furious and leaking pre-come, slathering itself onto his torso.

Your nails scratch his thighs lightly before you lean down to kiss them each once, looking back up at him before taking his cock into your hand. You pump his silky flesh a few times before swiping your thumb over his slit, spreading his arousal over the head of his cock before lowering your mouth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the taste, absolutely entranced by this man and his cock that you love oh so much.

“My wife is so pretty with my cock in her mouth.” He says, stroking the side of your face with his thumb.

You separate from him as you sit back on your heels, pumping his length as you quirk a brow. “I think I look prettier when your cock is in me, papí.”

He groans and squeezes his eyes shut, thumping his head against the shower wall. “Got a dirty fucking mouth, bebita. Christ.” [baby girl]

“Just wait to see what it’ll do to your cock.” You can’t help but giggle at the way your words were easily affecting him, but you decide to cease your teasing.

You slowly take him into your mouth, gagging as you reach the hilt. You swallow around him as best as you can manage before bringing your mouth up once more, swirling your tongue around his tip before taking him all the way into your mouth again.

He’s heavy and warm against your tongue, twitching with every bob of your head as you set a steady rhythm. You squeeze your lips around him and he cradles the back of your head, guiding your movements up and down his cock in haste.

“Your mouth feels so– fuck– fucking good, corazón.” [heart]

He struggles to vocalize a coherent thought, babbling on about how good you make him feel and how much he loves you.

The broken praises only spur you on further as you begin to deepthroat him with every pass, tears pricking your waterline as you control your gag reflex. He’s nearly bucking his hips up into you at this point, fucking your mouth at a pace that drives him insane.

“Shit– yeah, baby, just like that. Fuck you’re so perfect, I’m gonna fucking come—”

You hum around him and squeeze your lips even tighter, gripping his thighs as he tenses up. His spend shoots onto your tongue and he can’t help the loud groan that rumbles through his chest, the feeling of your mouth so heavenly around his cock. You swallow everything he gives you, enjoying the view of your husband’s post-orgasm glow.

The late afternoon sun seeps into the bathroom and illuminates him in such a way that even the Greek Gods have nothing against. He looks picturesque like this; mouth parted and panting—a wild and untamable rasp, eyes shut as he comes down from the orgasm he’s been pining after all day long. His wet curls stick to his forehead in disarray, but it suits him.

His eyes slowly peel open and peer down at you, and you know better than to give him a smug smile. Instead, you lean down and kiss his inner thigh a few times without breaking his heady gaze.

“C’mere.” He murmurs, pulling you up by your elbows. You’re standing now, and he leans forward to kiss your stomach a few times before he pats his thighs. You straddle his hips, hands landing on his chest as you trace small patterns.

His hand slides down and in between your thighs where it’s slick with your arousal. You were so lost in pleasing your husband that you didn’t notice the incessant need growing stronger by the minute. It wasn’t a low, bubbling thing anymore—it was a full-fledged monstress clawing her way to the surface, begging to be tamed.

The carnal desire for Javi couldn’t be held off anymore. You leaned in to kiss him, moaning into his mouth as your hips rock against nothing in particular. Javi is already half-hard again, and ever the gentleman that he is, he angles you down to where your dripping core is gliding against his warm, thick length.

A strangled moan leaves your lips as you toss your head back, and Javi leans forward to nose at your jaw before peppering your neck in kisses. He nibbles on the junction between your neck and shoulder, rocking his hips up onto you simultaneously.

You whine his name as you loll your head forward, eyes blinking open and gaze locking with his.

You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to say your next words—maybe it’s the look in his eye, maybe it’s a mixture of desperation and desire, maybe it’s just pure, honest truth. Hell, maybe it was all of the above.

“I want to make you a daddy, Javi.” Your voice is sultry and sickeningly sweet, dripping like honey.

And from that point, he was determined. Determined to make you the mother of his child, determined to start a family with you and grow it to both your heart's content, and determined to love and cherish you and your future child, or children—always—and Javier Peña was a man of his word.

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you forward so you both are chest to chest, and you’re reeling over the look he’s giving you. He notches his tip at your entrance, fully hard once again with the promising tone behind your words.

“Say it again.” He says.

“I want to make you,” You pause, moving your lips down to slot between his, pulling back just enough to whisper the rest of your sentence. “A daddy.” You sink down slowly onto him, and you kiss him again as you slowly adjust yourself to him.

You both moan into each other, pulling apart as he fully sheathes himself into you. You’re so full like this, content in every way possible at the feeling of your husband’s cock stretching you out so deliciously. You rock your hips slightly as a test, moaning at the sensation that surges through you.

You do it again, this time with more intent, and slowly set a rhythm with your hips. The feeling of his cock is otherworldly. A greedy, selfish part of you thinks that you’ll never be able to get enough of him or the feeling of this—being connected as so.

You fist a hand into his thick wet locks as the other grabs onto his shoulder, ensuring you can keep your balance as you rock your hips back and forth. He captures your mouth in a blazing kiss, groping your ass before slapping it once as he picks up the pace for you.

You’re panting into each other’s mouths as he increases the pace, now pounding his hips up into you. You cry out his name as your fingernails claw their way down his back and he hisses in pleasure, cradling the back of your head.

Your mind is fuzzy and your lungs are on fire from kissing him desperately, and the white hot feeling in your core is blazing.

“I–I love you, Javi– oh, god, I fucking love you. I love you and I want you to be the father of my child and I—” You’re babbling so much that you don’t even have a clue as to what it is that you’re really trying to say, but Javi gets the message, you think.

He kisses your jaw as you try and match the movement of your hips to each thrust up into you, but it’s genuinely no use. Your body wants to succumb to Javier and his strong body and delicious cock and beautiful face and his big, loving heart—so you let it. You fall limp in his hold, leaning onto him as your orgasm surges through you unexpectedly.

He can feel you pulsating around him and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“Gonna make you a mama. Gonna be so good to our baby, the best mama ever.” He’s losing all self control, and you cradle his head as you ride out your prolonged orgasm.

“Please, Javi.” You beg, and that’s enough for him to completely come undone. His hips still as he comes in you, a string of ‘I love you’s’ spilling from his mouth. You’re both breathless and completely dazed, immersed in post-coital bliss. The sound of the shower water hitting the tile floor is a relaxing constant as you both try to control your breathing.

You sit like this for a while; you're perched in his lap as he leans against the wall, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

You smatter kisses along his pulse point as a silent plea of love. You’re both pruny and fucked-out, but being here with each other like this is truly a dream in itself.

The prospect of his dream woman giving him a child has him reeling, so perhaps leaving the room this week is an empty promise that flew out of the door the minute you told him you’d make him a daddy.

Even if nothing happens right away for the two of you, that’s okay, too. You’d get to relish in the unbelievable life you already share with him a bit longer, built from the ground up by you and a man who loves you unconditionally. A man that would individually pick out the stars from the brilliant night sky for you. A man that still cannot fathom that he gets to share this life with you.

And if that’s the case, you really wouldn’t mind at all.

tags: @punkshort @endlessthxxghts @javierpena-inatacvest @ovaryacted @northernbluess @clawdee @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 (since all of you were excited about me posting this. ily)

divider by @saradika-graphics

#javier pena fic #javier peña #javier pena imagine #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal characters

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miumura · 4 months ago

Text

DANGEROUS ──── TAESAN ⋆.

"JUST MAKING MEMORIES" is something Taesan sent to you over text before he bolted out of the door. He knew he might get into trouble for sneaking out, but none of that mattered—he needed to see you. Trouble could wait; reuniting with you couldn’t.

PAIRING best friend!taesan x gn!reader GENRE fluff ∿ accidental confession ∿ WARNINGS inspired from “Dangerous” by BOYNEXTDOOR ,, one curse word ,, that is all i believe !! WORD COUNT 1.7K+ ( 1745 )

NEW MESSAGE taesan’s part has been stuck in my head so i had to write him to this ^^ i def have this song and mv on loop - it’s such a fun one !! so you can bet i ran to write this ASAP 🫡 shows that i am soso excited for their comeback :] !!

♫ ──── I never cross the line, trust me 𓂃 ⭑

Taesan had to be extra quiet tonight—he couldn’t afford to get caught by his parents, especially at this hour. But, he prided himself on being skilled at sneaking out, having done it countless times before. This wasn’t his first rodeo, and tonight, he was determined it wouldn’t be the night he finally slipped up.

Moving swiftly but cautiously across the creaky wooden floor, he kept his gaze fixed between his parents' room and the exit. His heart raced when he found himself in front of their door, which he slightly cracked open to confirm they were asleep. Sure enough, the car keys rested right where he expected—on the nightstand beside his father.

Taesan hesitated for a split second before slipping in, his steps light as air. He reached for the keys, careful not to disturb the silent house or the sleeping figure. With a smooth motion, he grasped the keys without causing a single jingle. Without wasting a second, he darted back towards the entrance, his light footsteps barely audible, a small grin tugging at his lips.

So far, everything was going according to plan.

Maybe telling Taesan you were finally back from your two-week trip at 2 A.M. wasn’t the brightest idea. If you had known he’d spam you with texts filled with excitement and then decide to show up at your place right in the middle of your unpacking, you might’ve held off on sharing the news. But truth be told, you were just as eager to talk to him. After spending weeks messaging back and forth, you couldn’t resist letting him know you were home—especially with him counting down the days until your return like a personal calendar.

Even when you tried to convince him to wait just a few more hours to meet, Taesan was already set on seeing you right then and there. There was no talking him out of it.

He just couldn’t wait to see you again.

“Hey, I’m here!!!!” Your phone buzzed with a notification as you were halfway through putting away your clothes, causing you to chuckle.

You debated ignoring Taesan for a bit longer to tease him, but when his texts quickly escalated to threats of ringing your doorbell—fully aware that your parents were likely fast asleep—you had no choice but to give in.

Dropping the shirt in your hand, you rushed down the stairs, determined to stop him. When you opened the door, you were greeted by Taesan’s slight smirk, which soon blossomed into a wide grin. Before you could even say anything, he swept you into a tight hug, holding you close as you instantly melted into his embrace.

You hadn’t realized just how much you missed his hugs until now.

Finally breaking from his embrace, you took a moment to study the familiar features you had only seen through FaceTime. It hit you that this moment was real—you were finally back, standing in front of Taesan again. Your eyes soon trailed down to his outfit, and you couldn’t help but let out a series of small chuckles.

“Did you roll out of bed when I texted you?” you teased, pointing at his pants, which were covered in random, colorful designs.

He followed your gaze and stared at his pants—decorated with bizarre patterns you couldn’t even describe. Taesan let out a laugh, though his slightly flushed cheeks and the way he scratched the back of his neck betrayed his embarrassment.

“Hey, to be fair, you texted me at two in the morning.”

“You could’ve worn jeans or something,” you quipped.

“At least I put on a hoodie—besides, you're in pajamas too!” he pointed out, causing you to giggle as he finally noticed.

“Not as weird as yours,” you shrugged. “Anyway, it was nice seeing you—you should go back now.”

You gave him a slight push toward the direction of his house, but Taesan didn't budge, instead staying put with an odd grin that sent a chill down your spine.

“Not yet,” he said, pulling out car keys from his pocket and jingling them in front of you. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you glanced over his shoulder, spotting something you should’ve noticed earlier—his parents' car, parked right there. You whipped your head back to Taesan, who let out a laugh at your reaction.

“So, you’re telling me, not only did you sneak out, but you took their car too?!” you exclaimed.

“Technically, it’s supposed to be my car too, so… why can’t I?” he shrugged, still grinning like he hadn't just committed a minor crime (dramatic much?).

“You’re going to get into trouble, Taesan,” you warned, though you couldn’t help but smile at his boldness. This was classic Taesan—reckless, spontaneous, and a little too daring for his own good.

“Not if we don’t get caught,” he smirked.

“What do you mean we—” Before you could finish your sentence, Taesan grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the car. Without much choice, you found yourself sliding into the passenger seat, watching him confidently start up the engine. You shot him a side-eye as the car turned on loudly.

“You’re not going to drag me into your mess if you get into trouble… are you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“That won’t happen, don’t worry,” he said with a grin, glancing over at you. His casual reassurance didn’t ease your nerves, but something about his energy made you believe him. Even though this seemed reckless and dangerous, there was something thrilling about it, something that made you forget to be cautious.

“Even if it does happen… this better be worth it,” you muttered, glancing at him as he pulled away from your house.

“Making demands now?” Taesan snickered, his hand reaching for the volume knob as he slowly turned up the music you both liked. You hummed along with the familiar melody as he drove, and soon you began to recognize where you were headed.

When you finally arrived at the familiar, secluded spot, a smile crept onto your face. It was the hangout place—the place. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, just an old rooftop in an abandoned part of town, but it held so many memories for you both. Hours spent talking under the stars, laughing about nothing, escaping reality together—it was your safe haven.

“I missed this place,” you quietly exclaimed, staring out of the window as nostalgia washed over you.

“I’m glad you do,” Taesan replied, pulling the car into a spot nearby and shutting off the engine. He turned to you with a soft smile. “It was boring without you here.”

“I would’ve expected so,” you teased with a grin, pushing the car door open and stepping outside. Taesan shook his head at your comment, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You both started walking along the rocky path, the crunching sound beneath your feet breaking the quiet, but in a way that felt calming. As you neared the old, cracked steps leading to the rooftop, Taesan reached for your hand, his familiar words slipping out as if by instinct, “Watch your steps.”

He always said it every time, a small gesture of care that never failed to warm you inside. You gave his hand a small squeeze in response, feeling a comfort that only Taesan could bring—a comfort that had remained constant even after weeks of distance.

It didn’t take long for you two to reach the rooftop, and you couldn��t help but feel a wave of relief when you saw that the mat you’d left last time was still there. With a soft sigh, you sat down, sinking into the familiar comfort of the spot. Taesan followed suit, settling down beside you.

You both gazed up at the night sky. Though it wasn’t lit up with as many stars as usual, the cool, crisp breeze seemed to make up for it.

You two chatted for what seemed like for decades, with the amount of endless topics you two managed to bring up. As much as you wished for this moment to last forever, your mind somehow went back to the thought of what time it could be.

“It’s probably so late right now,” you mumbled, still not bothering to check your phone for the time. “You really shouldn’t have stayed up.”

“Why not?”

“I told you I’d be back late,” you replied, turning to glance at him. “You shouldn’t have waited.”

“I still wanted to see you,” Taesan said without hesitation.

“Why?” you asked, your voice quieter now, more curious than anything.

“Because I like you.”

His words hung in the air for a few seconds, both of you processing what he had just said. Taesan’s eyes widened slightly as if the confession had slipped out by accident, and the shock that hit both of you was almost palpable. Neither of you spoke at first, the cool breeze suddenly feeling much more intense as you stared at him in surprise.

Neither of you could find the words to say next. Taesan turned his head slightly, eyes flicking to the ground as if it could offer him an escape from the awkwardness that had suddenly settled between you. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his hoodie, a nervous habit you’d seen before, though it had never felt so intense.

You stared at him, trying to make sense of what just happened. The cool breeze brushed against your skin, and yet, your body felt warmer. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words were lodged in your throat, stuck between surprise and the realization that this wasn’t just a passing comment.

His confession was still hanging in the air, echoing in the silence between you two.

Taesan shifted uncomfortably, his gaze still fixed on the ground. He finally took a deep breath, but even then, his words faltered. “Uh, I didn’t—” he started, then stopped, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty.

You swallowed, trying to calm the sudden rush of emotions that had washed over you.

"You know... Taesan, I feel—" you began, but your words were suddenly interrupted by a loud buzzing from Taesan's pocket. He immediately reached for his phone, and both of you glanced down at the screen. The name "Dad" lit up brightly, sending a jolt of panic through the air.

Both your eyes widened in unison as reality hit. Taesan's face that was once filled with anticipation became paled, and you could feel the tension shift.

There was a brief, terrifying silence before he muttered,

"Oh fuck."

💬 : prepare for more bnd works ( hopefully ) i love them sm

𝓑OY𝓝EXT𝓓OOR 𝓟ERM 𝓣AGLIST IS 𝓞PEN!

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some-bunniii · 4 months ago

Text

Alastor and Lucifer come to your rescue

・❥ You’ve been kidnapped. Good thing you know two handsome fellas who’d come to your rescue in a heartbeat—or lack thereof.

~ 5k words

x: reader is g/n. no use of y/n. enjoy 🥰

“You better just let me go. It won’t be pretty for any of you if you keep me locked up for much longer!” You called from the suspended prison cell, hanging from the ceiling with a single, thick chain.

The demon thugs below barely blinked, ignoring your words as they continued their game of hellish poker. Empty bottles of liquor were scattered across the floor, their heads spinning with a drunken buzz while they snickered between each other.

“Whoever wins this round gets first tool pick for torturing the prisoner.” The dealer laid out the deck of cards, flicking his gaze to the cage just above their heads.

“Maybe that will finally shut them up. It’s been–what, three hours since we grabbed them, and they’re still yapping.” One of the shark demons sighed as he shuffled his hand.

The iron bars pressed against your fingers, their chill biting your skin as you gripped them. The dank air, thick with the stench of mold and something fouler, clung to your lungs with every breath. They had plucked you from the street just as you stepped out of the bar, saying you owed money to some freak down in the Greed Ring and your stash of cash needed to be coughed up before the night's end.

Except you have no memory of stealing money from anybody! They must have confused you for someone else, and surely whoever is waiting for their mula will find out your kidnappers snagged the wrong passerby. Sure, you were in Hell for a reason, but your behavior since working at the Hazbin Hotel had improved considerably.

You’d have alerted any of your friends at the hotel of your whereabouts if you could, but the thugs had shaken you of any loose change and electronics the moment you arrived at this dusty, empty warehouse. Angel Dust was the fastest texter, but you were sure he was at the studio by now—in every position except the one that would answer your cries for help.

Was three hours enough of an absence for anyone to be worried? Maybe Charlie would find you tardy for this evening’s lesson and panic, or Vaggie would notice your desk was empty much longer than usual.

You knew someone who would notice the moment your presence became suspiciously absent. Actually, you could name two that would–and who’d come to your rescue in the blink of an eye.

One of them was the very King of Hell himself, Lucifer Morningstar. You met him when Charlie gave him a tour of the hotel all those months ago, and you were immediately taken by his humor and perfect looks, awed by his power and history as an angel. You would like to feel that Lucifer felt those same butterflies upon being introduced to you when you dipped your head and batted your lashes at those pretty eyes of his.

“I heard you built this hotel up from dust with a single thought!” you said, your voice trembling with excitement as he drew closer. “I've never met someone with such a skill in architecture.”

“You flatter me,” the angel chuckled, extending an open palm, “but also undermining my powers. I’m so much cooler than that. Let me show you!”

In a burst of red magic, a yellow rubber ducky appeared with a comical pop, and you blinked in surprise at the familiar face staring back. The ducky looked… just like you, and a smile spread across your features at the silly little you, reaching out a finger to brush across its beak.

“That is pretty cool,” you affirmed with a laugh, meeting his prideful gaze, “I never thought I’d look so cute as a duckling!”

“You do that all on your own. Here, you can have it.” Lucifer held out the duck with a wink, and your eyes widened in delight, and you quickly lifted a hand. “Just a generous gift from your gracious, very impressed King of Hell!”

When your fingers brushed against his, it was like feeling earth’s sunlight on your cheeks again, a warmth that spread up your arm and had your shoulders loosening in relief from unnoticed tension. Taking the toy in your hands with sudden, fresh energy, you turned it for a close inspection. It felt real, rubbery, and smooth against your palm. It definitely sounded real when you squeezed its little body, and it quacked, like a real duck!

When you lifted your head, he had been dragged off by his daughter to finish touring the halls, and you were left with a pounding heart.

You brushed a thumb across the little duck, warmth rising in your cheeks from the encounter with the angelic man until your smile faltered as his words echoed in your mind.

Very impressed. Did he… like you? The conversation had been brief but charged, and you hoped to see him again and learn the real Lucifer Morningstar, not just the King of Hell. If Charlie could win him over with that visit to Heaven, that is.

That was your first interaction with him–and not your last, either. He began visiting the hotel quite often, reconnecting with his daughter and lending a hand behind the scenes whenever she desired. Lucifer always made time for you, too.

Giving you colorfully themed rubber duckies became his little tradition, gifting them with theatrics and compliments that had your cheeks hot every time. Lucifer’s features always glowed when you laughed at his stupid dad jokes and stared in awe at the creations he took the most joy in.

The morning you had been kidnapped, you reached for your phone, clicked on the contact with a rubber ducky icon, and typed a quick message while heading for the lobby.

[You: Going to the bar with some friends next to the sweet shop. Want one for the next time you stop by?]

[King of Ducks: You know I can just snap my fingers and make a dozen, right?]

You were shocked to see Lucifer had answered immediately; that was rare for the reclusive king. He had gotten better at including himself into the hotel and as a normal member of hellish society, and you liked to think that was in part due to your efforts.

[You: Yes, but their desserts are good. Plus, when was the last time you went out and ate non-magically cooked food?]

[King of Ducks: Yeah… no thanks. I don’t trust anything made by sinners. How about I dig around for my last bag of Eden Apples and whip up an appetizer for dinner tonight? Will you be at the hotel?]

[You: Yes, I will only be out for a few hours. See you then!]

[King of Ducks: Can’t wait. ʚ(•ө•)ɞ]

You weren’t sure how to categorize your relationship with the King of Hell. You were one of the very few people he spoke to and who he enjoyed talking to, yet there had never been a confession or a kiss, just outings and shared time at the hotel that bordered on date nights.

Could Lucifer be at the hotel now, waiting for you to eat caramel apples with him? He’d get worried, but would he be able to navigate the hurdles of modern technology to track her phone to the warehouse? That might be a problem. You sighed, hope diminishing as you watched one demon clean the barrel of his gun.

There was one more, however. A powerful demon that knew almost every corner of the rugged outskirts of Pentagram City, where he practiced his expanding powers on criminals just like the scum that gossiped about their latest murders below you.

“Alastor, I'm going out to the bar.” You had stood in the doorway to the lobby earlier today, lips curving into a soft smile as you tipped your chin up to meet the crimson gaze of the fluffy-eared and charismatic facility manager. “Just visiting some friends, I won’t be long. Save a spot for me at dinner, okay?”

Alastor’s gaze lingered on you, the sharp edges of his grin softening. “But of course, my dear,” he purred, his voice full of warmth. “Take your time, enjoy your evening. I’ll make sure there’s a spot just for you—waiting, as always.”

Alastor always knew where you were heading, partly because he was technically your boss—since you sat as the concierge and receptionist for the hotel—but also because you felt completely safe wherever your journey would lead if you knew the infamous overlord was watching your back.

The terror he inflicted on any bystander who heard his name didn’t rub you so terribly, not when they had even deadlier crimes. They were in Hell, yet the demon’s only victims had been those clutching pearls of insatiable greed and power, ones that wished to climb the ladder by slaughtering anyone who opposed their seat of violence.

Alastor was the one who welcomed you into the hotel in the beginning when he found you scrounging for scraps in the alleyways like some feral cat. He had approached you with interest, and when your eyes set upon the infamous Radio Demon who offered you a warm place to sleep and delicious food to fill your growling stomach, you had almost taken it in a heartbeat.

Then, you remembered who exactly this demon was.

“If you think I will make a deal with you, think again! I’m not that desperate to sell my soul!” You backed into a brick wall with a glare.

“Nonsense, I would never ask such a thing.” He brushed off your words with a dismissive wave of his hand. “All I ask in return for room and board is for you to work. Tell me, are you efficient with modern communication devices?

“Yes, I can operate a phone.” You had held back an odd smile.

“Excellent! That is all I require.” Alastor had taken you by the elbow to lead you toward the large, seemingly abandoned building at the top of a grassy hill. “I disdain all these newfangled gadgets that have taken over our wonderful city. I have no use for it, but alas, it is a staple of our world now, so we must become accustomed to stepping out of our comfort zone.”

You had listened to him chatter about the modern world's problems in comfortable silence. Although strange, his voice was smooth and lively, diverting all of your attention to the eloquent words that easily rolled off his tongue.

No stranger had ever offered you such kindness, especially in a place like Hell, and you were determined to make the most of it. Alastor did not seem to mind your company, even when he showed subtle resistance to the companionship of the others in the hotel, like Angel Dust, who always tried to wind up the demon with constant references to his provocative career choice.

He even let you catch the fireflies in his strange but breathtaking pocket lagoon hidden in the shadows of his room. They danced across the soaked grass, lighting up in soft, yellow hues that blinked a trail across the darkness, one that you followed eagerly with a glass jar in your grip.

With gentle hands, you entrapped three… four… five lightning bugs into their new glass home, where they lit the darkness between your palms, like clutching gold sparkling in the sunlight.

Alastor watched you with an amused smile as you took joy in such a meaningless endeavor. Catching bugs to light up a jar, what a silly little idea.

But… what a cute little endeavor. Innocent fun that brought light to the most beautiful aspects of the natural world familiar to his childhood home in the South. One of the few things he missed about the painful, mortal world above.

When a flickering cloud hovered over the murky pond’s edge, you stood right at the water as it lapped at your feet and leaned as far as you could over the shimmering depths. Outreaching your arms, you reached for the fireflies dancing just out of reach with a quiet grunt.

Right as you clamped the lid shut on a flurry of lights, the dewy, slick grass beneath your feet sent you stumbling into the pond. You dropped the jar and flailed, squeezing your eyes shut to await the cold plunge into the muddy water.

Nothing came, however. Only the feeling of a sturdy force wrapped tightly around your midsection. Your eyelids fluttered open, and you tipped your chin down to find a green, smokey tentacle holding you steadily, with another clutching the fallen jar above the pond’s motionless surface.

“In the mood for a midnight swim, hm?” Alastor teased, and you twisted your head to face him, surprise written across your features.

He snapped his fingers, and the tentacles slithered back into the middle of the clearing. Carefully lowering you onto the soil, they dropped the container into your open palms before dissipating into the air.

“You caught me!” You breathed in relief.

“Of course I did.” Alastor chuckled, tone softening as he looked you over. “I can’t have you slipping away from me too easily; who will try my Cajun sauce when you are not around?”

“I do like your sauce,” you replied with a laugh. “Thank you; I’d rather not be soaking wet trying to care for these little guys.”

He watched you closely, a hint of amusement lingering in his eyes as you carefully cradled the jar. The way the soft lights danced against your face seemed to draw his gaze, and for a moment, the usual mischief in his expression faded into something more contemplative.

“What will you do with them, if I may ask?” He tilted his head.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, following the flickering lights between your palms in a trance. “I just think they’re beautiful. Maybe as a bedside night light? Or, we could use it as lanterns for the hallways. Angel Dust would be grateful for a path back to his room during late nights returning from the studio.”

“An interesting idea. I’m always touched by your capacity to care for the wellbeing of others,” he had replied, a genuine warmth underneath the faint static of his honeyed voice.

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you hid a bashful smile by pulling the jar closer to your face. A thought struck you suddenly, and the container lowered in your hands as your brows furrowed. You glimpsed at Alastor’s door behind you, lips tipping downward.

“Wait, isn't this all apart from your room? Which means when I leave, they’ll just… vanish?”

The Radio Demon watched your falling features in surprise, struck by the fact this was emotionally tolling on you. A pang of… something strange had his chest tightening, a feeling Alastor hadn’t felt since he watched his mother cry over an antique vase that shattered after he had romped with the dog a little too wildly as a boy.

Why would he deny you something so innocent and harmless? He’d find no joy in restricting you from taking the silly little creatures with you.

He may be a demon, but he wasn’t a monster.

“Usually… yes,” Alastor began, lifting a claw to tap gently on the jar’s lid, “but I see no disadvantage in giving you a little sample of my home.”

The glass fizzled with green energy, the fireflies growing anxious by the strange magic that consumed the jar for only a moment. The jar sizzled out like a dying bulb, and the remaining demonic aura sent tingles through your fingertips.

That smile of yours wrapped him tighter around your finger, and your eyes widened in wondered delight. You met his crimson gaze with a hurried thanks and dashed out of his room to find the perfect spot for your twinkling lantern. Your quick farewell didn’t bother Alastor; he knew you’d be back to collect more, and he’d greet you once more with the usual dapper grin.

You weren’t sure what your relationship with Alastor was, either: but, you knew he would come to your rescue at a moment’s notice. Except, he would never set foot near any gadget that could ping your location. So… how would he find you? Were you doomed to be swinging from the ceiling forever?

Then, your hands settled upon a tiny object still deep in your pocket. Lifting it to view, your eyes lit with an idea.

A paper clip, one that you could transform into a makeshift lockpick. It was a good thing you knew how to pick locks. Very well, if you were to brag. Bending the metal with practiced ease, you scooted to the lock that kept you sealed away and quietly slipped the clip’s end into the tiny hole. You strained your ears, listening for the familiar clicks that would lead to your grand escape.

“You son of a bitch!” One of the demons snarled below, slamming his fist onto the table as he glared at the player across from him, startling you. “I know you cheated!”

“It’s called being a sore loser,” the other drawled, swirling the liquor in his glass. “It's not my fault you’re this bad at—”

“Excuse me, gentleman.”

Their heads snapped to the open doorway across the floor, your eyes trailing up the finely-tailored red suit until they landed on a pair of fluffy ears and tiny antlers that stuck out from the top of his head.

“Alastor!” You cried happily from above, wiping your brow with relief.

His gaze flicked to your figure dangling above the criminals, who rose slowly with deadly glares at the new arrival. They lowered back onto the men around the table, his grin sharpening as it widened from ear to ear, and his nails tapped against the microphone on his staff.

“I believe you’ve taken someone who does not belong to you,” Alastor continued, boredom lacing his tone, “return them, and I will grant you a less painful death.”

The room was unfathomably silent. The only sound reaching your ears was your own heartbeat thumping against your ribcage as you watched the scene below in breathless anticipation.

“Is that him?” One of the thugs whispered, and another nodded with a set jaw.

“Yes, but he’s outnumbered twenty to one. We can take him.” He pulled an angelic blade from his sheath. “Alert the rest of our men. The Radio Demon won’t last for much longer.”

His accomplice obliged, and Alastor let them go, thrilled by the added challenge as he took another step forward.

“Well?” He hummed, looking at the men expectantly.

One parted their lips, beginning to speak, until the overhead lights flickered and fizzled out, except for one on the opposite end of the warehouse. Everyone, even Alastor, furrowed their brows in confusion.

“Behold!” A disembodied voice echoed across the long space, dripping with theatrical flair. You perked at the familiar tone, a smile tugging at your lips. The remaining light in the warehouse intensified, casting an exaggerated, almost divine glow on the figure emerging from the shadows.

“The Morning Star has arrived!” Lucifer announced with a flourish, eyes shut and arms outstretched as if addressing an adoring crowd.

Unfortunately, he was faced in the opposite direction of the crowd. Alastor’s smile faltered at the sight of the short king before it sharpened even further, and his claws clenched around his staff.

“And I am here to—! Oh.” Lucifer’s yellow gaze met the wall, and he pivoted on the heels of his boots to face the group across the warehouse, snapping his fingers and vanishing in red smoke.

In an explosion of confetti, the angel popped into existence beside Alastor, and Lucifer’s grin grew in devilish triumph.

“As I was saying.” He cleared his throat to the jaw-dropped onlookers, twirling his apple-tipped cane in his fingers. “I am here to relieve you all of life, forever, since you can’t keep your hands to yourself like decent people.”

The thugs blinked, glancing between each other. Some looked like they were about to beeline for the exit, while others only bared their teeth in anger.

“Did you follow me here?” Alastor ground out, eye twitching as he twisted his head with a crack to side-eye the king.

“No!” Lucifer replied with a huff. “This is my city, remember. I know my way around these parts just fine.”

“I was here first,” Alastor hissed, adjusting his suit with a hmph. “This is my rescue. Don’t you have some toys to play with back home?”

“Still up here!” You called from the bars of your cell, peering down at the two bickering men with an eye roll.

They looked up at your crouched figure, then at each other with calculating glares, and finally rested on the mass of criminals before them, more pouring in from the open doors.

“Watch and learn, bellhop.” Lucifer rolled up his sleeves and stepped toward the group of thugs who clutched their angelic weapons with trembling fingers.

He lifted a hand, pointing a finger gun toward the closest demon, whose eyes widened as the King of Hell aligned his sights as he looked down the imaginary barrel of a gun.

With an audible “pew!” A firework shot from Lucifer’s fingertip, slamming into one of the demon's stomachs and skyrocketing him out a window with a shriek.

The darkening sky lit up in a burst of sparkling colors, and a thunderous boom shook the building. The thugs around the table blinked, glancing at each other warily as the apple-cheeked man clasped his hands and looked at them expectantly.

“Anyone else?” Lucifer smiled with shark-like teeth, brushing the dust from his coat.

They gulped, lowering their weapons, but the largest demon, a centipede-like man who stood three or four Alastor’s tall, hissed in rage and lifted six silver, gleaming pistols toward the angel, all clutched in its multiple pairs of arms.

If the angels could be felled by their own steel as they did during their attack on the city only two weeks ago, surely their once-heavenly king could fall from it, too. There was too much money on the line to flee just yet. The demon pulled each trigger simultaneously, and Lucifer quirked a brow.

“Huh, that’s efficient,” he said as bullets flew past his hat, and he ducked quickly to avoid them.

Alastor threw up a shield of green, the bullets from the rest of the thugs ricocheting off the powerful barrier and zipping across the floor, hitting one of the demons right in the chest with a pained gasp.

“Do not worry your fragile little crown.” The Radio Demon stepped forward, waving off the king without a glance. “I will handle these delinquents.”

“There’s not a chance in Hell I’m letting you have all the fun,” Lucifer replied, and he pulled a long, fiery whip from within his coat.

The whip crackled with an infernal glow, flames licking the air as it uncoiled. He cracked it against the floor, splitting the concrete and leaving scorch marks across its surface. With a snarl to charge, the thugs surged forward, brandishing their weapons and aiming their guns at the two men’s foreheads without faltering.

In an unspoken competition, your dual saviors readied themselves, green tentacles curling around Alastor protectively as a few snaked forward and throttled a group of demons while another threw one out the already-broken window. His antlers extended, eyes turning to radio dials as his form grew and shifted into a demonic monstrosity, claws extended for the succulent fleshbags before him.

Lucifer lashed out with his whip, the flames searing the air as it wrapped around the largest demon’s pistols, yanking them from its grasp with a force that sent the weapons clattering to the floor. With a flick of his wrist, the whip coiled around the centipede-man’s legs, dragging it down to its knees.

“Kneel before your king,” Lucifer sneered. He gave the whip a final, violent crack, sending the demon sprawling across the ground, flames licking at its many dismembered appendages.

Lucifer danced across the room, ducking and diving as he karate-chopped a demon, and they exploded into colorful paper mache. Alastor grew twice the size, his antlers lengthening and his eyes shifting into radio dials as he plucked a snarling criminal from the floor and swallowed him whole.

You did not want to sit around and take a stray bullet to the heart, so you continued picking the lock with hasty fingers. Bullets flew past your cage, but you did not halt the task as you heard the familiar clicks of unlocking mechanisms.

Realizing their chances were much slimmer than initially thought, some of the men hurried away, teeth chattering in fear, as they left the rest of their friends to be eaten by the hulking red demon and set on fire by balls of flame that engulfed Lucifer’s hands.

The final click had the lock to your cell plummeting to the ground, bonking one thug on the head, and he face-planted onto the concrete with a groan.

“I did it!” You beamed, chest swelling with a rare ego.

The door swung open, and you poked your head out, watching with a fluttering heart as the two contrasting figures worked in tandem to rescue you.

A tendril curled around the last demon’s leg, dragging him toward the gaping maw of the Radio Demon as he cried out in fear. The sudden force had his finger curling around the trigger, discharging a silver bullet that flew right above your head and shattered the chain that kept you suspended with a piercing shriek of metal.

The cage fell, and you along with it. With a gasp, you helplessly grasped at the bars, squeezing your eyes shut for the impending pain and misery as the floor rushed to meet you.

Six wings spread quickly, and Lucifer sprang forward, arms outstretched to catch your screaming figure midair. The cage around you burst in a plume of red smoke, and you coughed, brushing away the lingering smoke as your heart pounded. Your eyes lifted to meet Lucifer’s soft gaze, the overwhelming relief washing over you like a wave, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to his warmth and safety.

“Are you alright?” He asked, scanning your body for any injuries. Heaven only knows what he would have done if you had any.

“Now that you two are here, I've never been better,” you replied with happy tears brimming.

“Right, that guy is also here.” Lucifer rolled his eyes, glancing at Alastor’s shrinking figure as the demon licked his lips in satisfaction. “I hope you know I could have done everything without him.”

Of course, you did. He was the King of Hell. You shook your head with a smile as he descended smoothly, carefully lowering you onto two feet. Your chest was still heaving from the adrenaline as your gaze fleeted across the broken bodies littered across the ground, stomach churning at the sight.

Alastor strolled forward, taking his turn to examine you. His smile had receded, softening at the edges as he sidled up to you.

“You know, you handle yourself quite well under pressure without assistance. I knew your skills would come in handy someday. Although, in a few more minutes, I would have been there to free you without fuss.”

“Except I'm the one who caught them. That is a sole save in my books,” Lucifer cut in before you could speak. “All you did was have a late-night snack and ruin my good mood.”

“Preposterous. It was I who took care of most of these nuisances and saved our dear one,” Alastor chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Without me, you’d have only been floundering against the opposition like a frail duckling in alligator waters.”

“I’m so thankful that you both saved me,” you proclaimed, eyes shining with gratitude as you locked elbows with both men at your sides, “I couldn’t be more grateful for the rescue. Why don’t we get some celebratory drinks from Sinbucks on the way back? A hot cup of black joe and an Earl Grey tea for my handsome saviors.”

“Fine.” Alastor shrugged, not sparing a glance at the man on the other side of you. “But only if this blathering fool pays for it.”

“Anything for you,” Lucifer agreed, winking your way, “but your friend here better wait outside on the curb. I’m sure they wouldn’t like a rabid animal stinking up the place.”

With a giggle, you pulled them along and left the warehouse, strolling down the trashed streets with a skip in your step.

You glanced at both of them, pleased and content with just being near you. There was never a dull moment with either of them at your side, or with them together, for that matter, and you wished times like these lasted longer.

Although, you hoped that could happen without being kidnapped next time.

heyyy guys 😇 im back!! sort of. more like i took a break in writing my novel (roughly 70k words in) to work on an idea i’ve had for awhile but didn’t have the motivation for until now. also, summer overtime at my job and physical therapy have shortened my spare time to do anything… ick.

but now i’m freeeee!! so have this “little” guy for now, and i’ll have more to feed you all soon! now time to crawl back in my hole and write 🥲 goodbye 🤍

taglist 🏷️ (combined characters, 1/2)

@ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home @helluvapoison @th3-st4r-gur1 @concentratedconcrete @cimadreamer @marsenbie @guacam011y @maxiskindahere @purplerose291 @fictional-character-whore @0willowwisp0 @yourlocalgoldenretrieverboy @wpdarlingpan @halo-balo @chipper-chip @lvstyangel @acrazyartist @midorichoco @ivebeenthearchersstuff @indestructeible @otherthoughtsofbu @anonymousewrites @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @cherry-cola-100

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #hellaverse #lucifer x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader x alastor #perhaps one day it could become radioapple

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nariism · 6 months ago

Text

wherever you are, wherever you may be — i. rin

soulmates (name au) + "i'm done waiting."

synopsis. itoshi rin meets you under a sky full of fireworks. he spends the next 6 years of his life trying to convince himself that he doesn't love you. you spend the next 6 years giving him every reason why he should.

wc. 12.4k (i need to close my eyes and sleep for a while)

notes. huge thank you to ellie (@hyomagiri) and mari (@saetoshi) for helping me with this 🥹 this fic actually put me through it and i'm so grateful to both of them for their support 💗

— for my beloved @ode2rin 💐 | event masterlist ✉️

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2024

Every year on the seventh day of the seventh month, Itoshi Rin finds himself standing at the daunting entrance to his local shrine.

The tradition is completely beneath him—something childish that he grumbles about under his breath despite letting you drag him all the way out here with soft eyes watching your smile.

Tanabata is the festival of stars. Of love.

It is a story his mother used to whisper to him as they watched the night sky in awe, pretending that the galaxy was collapsing in on itself to allow for a romantic midnight rendezvous between two lovers.

It’s something far too sappy for his liking.

But the food is okay, he supposes, and it’s a good opportunity to get out of the house and spend time with you which he seldom has time to do now that he’s back in his training season.

There were too many things about it that he loathed: the screaming children that would bump into his legs; the way his ears would stay ringing for days after the festival ended; how you could always convince him to come as if you were some sort of hypnotic devil in disguise, and how thoroughly wounded his pride would be at that fact.

However, his least favourite part of the festival by far is writing down his wish for the year on a scrap piece of paper and hanging it around a bamboo tree. One, because he can never for the life of him think of anything meaningful to wish for. And two, because he isn’t sure he even believes in that sort of thing.

Rin is struggling again this year, pencil lightly scratching his temple as he thinks.

He’s painfully aware that he’s never put so much thought into this before, but you seemed so excited to come all the way here before heading to the festivities that he couldn’t possibly let you down.

His wish dawns on him then, something he wants to do before the next time he makes the climb all the way back up here 365 days from now.

“Hey,” your voice calls out quietly. “What did you wish for?”

“What did you wish for?” Rin quickly refutes.

You cast your narrowed eyes from the side, tilting your little slip of yellow paper away from him.

“Only if I get to see yours first.”

Normally, he would give in to you right away. His resolve when it comes to you is embarrassingly weak. But there’s no way for him to explain himself. No way he could show you the words he’s written lest he hurt his ego.

He stubbornly folds up the piece of paper and shoves your face away. All you do is laugh and he feels terribly warm.

“No peeking,” he tells you when you kiss across his fingertips.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2018

A name appeared for Itoshi Rin when he turned thirteen years old.

He remembers the day well—it was hard to forget, anyway. As much as he wanted to focus on the burning of the name etching its way down his skin, he couldn’t. Not when he was blinking snow out of his lashes and watching his brother’s retreating back.

Rin likes to think that the universe fucks with him in any way that it can.

Maybe he had done something terrible in his past life and this was its karmic retribution, or maybe he was just unlucky.

What he does know is this: the name on his pinky only reminds him of all the things he ever lost.

Every syllable struck needles into his heart—a painful memory of crawling after the tracks of the wheels Sae left behind with his luggage until gravel and ice were stuck under his nails. Or worse, the clawing of his throat as they sat across from each other at dinner—the way he didn't even smile when Rin announced to his parents that his soulmate mark had appeared while his mother cried out in joy.

In fact, Sae didn’t talk to him for the rest of his visit. He remembers that hurt the most.

The name had haunted him for all the remaining years of his life—a forced memory that he wished he could forget. There came with it a feeling of loneliness that crushed him despite the proof on his pinky that there was another soul wandering the earth that would fix him.

He refused to believe it.

Only revenge would fix him. Only proving himself better would heal the cracks in his heart. Only beating Sae. Sae, Sae, Sae. His brother’s name had been repeated so many times that it was easy to ignore the other burning his skin.

In all those years he found it easy to cast aside his soulmate. To ignore it even if it hurt.

So he wonders why it’s so bad tonight.

He’s done everything he could think of: slathering cooling ointment down his finger to stop the searing, wrapping it in a cast to prevent himself from admiring it for too long, even tying a wish to a piece of bamboo hoping it would disappear.

A finger snaps in front of his face, drawing his attention to his teammates in front of him. Both look equally amused.

“You’re dreaming,” Isagi muses. “You’ve been spacing out all night. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rin mutters, swatting his teammate’s hand away from him. He had been staring again, longingly eyeing the way the letters danced down his skin. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“None of your business.”

“Yeesh, it’s not good to keep things bottled up, you know?”

“You’re annoying,” Rin glowers before it melts back into indifference. “I’m fine,” he reiterates.

Isagi seems unconvinced, as he usually is when Rin is being mysteriously vague about what’s on his mind. He and Bachira share a tentative glance before sighing and shaking their heads.

“Well… okay,” he finally yields. “We’re going to get some snacks before the fireworks start. If you’re going to sulk then at least stay put and do it here so we can find you again.”

“Yeah,” Rin grumbles, already making an escape plan. “Whatever. Will do.”

As soon as the boys are out of sight, he turns heel and hurries away. The crowd is driving him crazy and he needs somewhere quiet so he can stare at his hands until his eyes are dry.

He comes to a pond situated just outside of the festival grounds, deep water glimmering under the moon and the passing lanterns.

Plopping down on the bench, he hunches over onto his knees with his elbows and takes a deep breath. It instead comes shallow, as if someone has just punched him in the gut.

It’s then that he realizes he’s not alone.

Your yukata is muddy, fabric soaked and dripping at the sleeves though you don’t seem to care or even notice. You look frustrated for some reason, lip curled into a concentrated frown while you plunge your hands into the mud around the edge of the water.

Away from the crowds of people, he can hear the summer song of cicadas chirping all around. Your hands dip in and out of the water, quiet splashes filling the rest of the silence on top of the distant buzz of children laughing.

It’s just you and him. Something primal inside of him rages, pounding against his chest until it feels like he’s suffocating.

Run. Run. Run.

His legs jerk, urging him to stand up and leave, but he feels glued down to the bench—tethered where he sits and forced to watch you repeatedly sink your hands into the muddy waters.

No more than five minutes must pass as you both ignore each other, yet it feels like an eternity stretches by.

Finally, you pipe up.

“You’re scaring them,” you tell him plainly.

His head whips in your direction at your voice, soft and careful. His teal eyes narrow at you. “Huh?”

Your frown deepens, turning to look at him with your hands still submerged. “The frogs.”

“Come again?”

“Your vibes. It’s scaring the frogs away.”

His eye twitches.

“Ever consider that you’re just dogshit at catching them?”

“Excuse me?”

“And look at you, making a total mess of yourself. Don’t you care that you have to go home looking like that?” He presses, leering at you like an insect he’s about to crush under his heel. You simply stare at him, expression blank.

Huffing, you tear away from him and sink your hands beneath the mud. “No. I don’t.”

He watches in silence as you sift around for a moment before pulling your hands up, a smile slowly morphing into your face.

“I got one…” You breathe, looking more elated than he thinks you should. “I really caught one.”

“First time?” He quips sarcastically. A part of him wonders why he hasn’t gotten up and left you altogether yet.

“Cut me some slack,” you complain, eyeing him from the side again. You gently run a finger along the back of the frog, trying not to scare it away. “I haven’t done this in forever.”

“Clearly.”

You snort. “Yeah. Clearly.”

Rin looks at you quizzically, puzzled at your sudden change in demeanor. You seem… softer. Less agitated, at the very least. You’re gazing at the frog adoringly, as if it had somehow solved all of your problems and was dragging you into another world.

Any retort he had ready to shoot at you dies in his mouth. The anger rising in his chest extinguishes in the blink of an eye, and a deep hush settles over you as he watches in curiosity.

For a moment, the universe goes quiet. He’s gotten so used to having everything on his mind all at once that the silence is almost unnerving.

He once believed that his world would end with an injury that never healed quite right, or when he was too old for any team to want him.

He once believed that his world would end when he could no longer imagine the feel of a ball between his palms.

He once believed that his world would end the day he couldn’t play football anymore—that the only thing that would ever kill him was if the chance of standing alongside his brother died with him.

But he was wrong.

Itoshi Rin’s world ends with the bellow of a firework.

In a few years, he would think of this stretch of a few seconds fondly. He would squeeze you a little tighter with his chin resting on your shoulder, staring up at a colourful sky. He would think it was poetic, in a way, that you were the one who painted his world in the same hues of shimmering gold.

Rin remembers, though, that only one thought had crossed his mind.

I’m so screwed.

He can see every fine detail of your face, illuminated in all the colours of the rainbow. And he can’t help but think you are the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. He can trace each intricate curve of your nose to your chin to the surprised parting of your lips; the way your lashes flutter as you blink rapidly, tensed from the sudden explosion.

The light fades faster than it appeared, yet it feels like a millennium has passed. The reverbing echo of the firework crackles across the sky, thundering in his ears so loud that he can feel it pounding in his chest.

(Or is that his heart? He can’t tell. He feels dizzy.)

Darkness envelops your bodies again, save for the dim glow of distant lanterns. Every part of you is seared into his memory, a floating image when he blinks.

The frog leaps from your hands back into the water, leaving nothing but ripples behind.

You stay there with your hands outstretched, looking lonely under the dark sky. Another one goes off above your heads, signalling the start of the display.

“There you are, Rin!” Bachira and Isagi come rushing over from the path, excited smiles and mirth bubbling in their laughs as they approach. “We thought you went home without us already!”

Rin slowly blinks out of his reverie. For a second, he glances in your direction again just to catch your eyes.

“I almost did,” he grumbles, forcing himself not to stare.

“Fireworks are starting!” Isagi yanks Rin to his feet and begins dragging him away before he can even protest.

Without turning around, he can feel the weight of your eyes in the back of his head. There’s an unfamiliar ache in his chest, and the name etched down his pinky burns infinitely hot.

Later at home, he stares at the spot where Sae used to sit back when he still came to Japan for anything other than to take a new passport photo.

“My soulmate’s name showed up,” he had mumbled that night to break the tense silence. It was strange that he still felt like he owed his brother that much—to make his visit as normal as possible despite having his heart carved open.

Sae only looked at him blankly, spoon halting just above his bowl. He was eerily still, quietly deciding how to react. Then,

“Good for you,” he said. And nothing more.

Rin squeezes his eyes shut and he feels warmth rolling down his cheeks. He quickly wipes the tears away, pretending as if they never existed.

He spends the rest of the night trying to forget your face.

(And the next year trying to recreate it in his dreams.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2019

Rin makes it another 275 days before he finally remembers every piece of the puzzle that is your existence.

He saw you in his sleep. The back of your head, anyway.

You were sitting in his favourite café, at the table he claimed for himself right by the window. You ordered a coffee but let it sit for so long that the ice melted. Then, you wiped up the condensation rolling down the frosty glass with your finger.

Rin watched you from afar, observing you the way he wished he did last summer.

Maybe then he could have dived deep into the recesses of his brain to remember why exactly you struck him so. But there he was, stuck watching the back of your head as you gazed out the window.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your fingers drummed mindlessly against the wooden table, reciting a rhythm just slightly louder than the pounding of his own heart.

“Can you leave me alone?” He finally called out, hoping it would stop your incessant beating.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“You’re annoying me,” he hissed. Annoying for disturbing his peace and quiet. Annoying for plaguing his dreams even after all these days.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Seriously,” he grunted, standing up from his seat so fast that the chair scraped horribly against the wooden floor. Still, you didn’t pay him any mind, instead more interested in the faceless people walking by. “Knock it off!”

Tap.

He bit the inside of his cheek in hesitation, the itch in the back of his mind ever present. “What’s your name?”

Silence.

You finally turned his way. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. And Rin was right—you were still so beautiful, 275 days later.

Grinning at him big and bright, you almost seemed to collapse in on yourself with joy. Like a star about to implode, or maybe more akin to a firework.

Either way, his breath was stolen from him.

You silently mouthed your name, making sure he saw every vowel and accentuated syllable. Warmth flooded him in every way—probably brought on by the racing of his heart.

It was impossible that his soulmate was someone like this. Someone whose smile looked like it could heal even the deepest wounds.

You grabbed his attention again with a big wave of the arms, and he watched in anticipation.

“You’re—”

Rin followed your mouth as you sounded out the words without a voice.

“—smiling!”

He reached up to run his fingers along his bottom lip. And you were right, he realized, as he traced it midway up his cheek.

(When did he start smiling?)

(Why?)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Rin thinks about you just as much in the waking world as he does in his dreams.

It’s spring, though snow is still settled over the eaves of homes that he passes on the way to the grocery store. Apparently the winter cold is supposed to be especially long and bitter this year, permeating until mid-May.

He stares at his feet as they mark the virgin snow, decorating his sneakers white and making his feet cold.

Did you walk through the same snow this morning?

Then, when he’s going through the motion of smelling the bottom of pineapples at the store:

Do you like pineapple? What if you’re allergic?

(He shakes his head and puts them away. He suddenly isn’t craving it.)

His obsession with you has only intensified as the year has gone on. If you ever peered into his mind, he would receive a well-deserved slap across the face.

The soulmate mark engraved down his pinky has never bothered him so badly.

It’s like you’re constantly with him—a ghost haunting him, or perhaps more like a curse. Thinking about you takes up unnecessary space in his head. Space that should be dedicated to football, and football only.

He's about to go home so he can make a list outlining the ways he can forget about you.

(Ironic, he knows, but in all honesty he already exhausted all of his options from his first list.)

But then he comes to a stop outside of his favourite café. It looks the same, even has the same advertisements plastered in the window as the last time he was here.

He hesitates at the door, but when he walks in it smells the same. It's decorated the same. Not a single table is out of place.

He walks up to his regular spot, runs his fingers along the wood where he remembers you tapping in his dream.

There's no sign of your existence here.

Rin shakes his head in annoyance, cursing himself out in his head because he was stupid enough to think he would run into you here.

Then disappointment floods his body, like a dam had been released in his chest and it's flowing unstoppably to every piece of him.

(Wait, why is he disappointed? He really needs to take a nap.)

He runs his hand through his hair as a nervous reflex, simultaneously relieved and irritated that you're nowhere to be seen.

It takes him a minute to recollect himself, to realize that he probably looks like a crazy person just standing beside an empty table like a lost child who doesn't know where to go, and decides to just go home.

He pulls into the line to get a drink for his walk home when—

"Thanks!"

His heart drops.

You waltz out of the back, tying your apron around your waist as you exchange spots in the break room with one of your coworkers.

Rin is about to die, seriously. You must be new here, since he's been to this café more times than he can count and he's never seen you before. Or was it that he was specifically looking out for you this time?

Whatever the reason, he's dumbfounded.

“Hey,” your acknowledgment makes him freeze in his spot. “Frog guy?”

He looks at you stupidly, rubbing his eyes like a cartoon character as if he’s imagining you standing right in front of him.

His gaze drifts down to your name tag, fresh and newly printed with white marker. Signed at the end is a little flower, petals swirled into tiny hearts.

Your existence before him is undeniable.

"Um. Yeah," he sputters in disbelief.

"I..." You clear your throat, looking as bewildered as he feels. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

'You're my soulmate. Of course we'd run into each other,' he thinks to himself. Out loud, though:

"Yeah. Me neither."

The person behind him in line coughs quietly, impatiently tapping their foot. Rin takes the hint and quietly tells you what he wants. You lean in across the counter to hear him better, and his face grows warm.

Once you fill in the boxes on the cup, you place it down and move it to the side for someone to fill. It catches his eye immediately.

Itoshi Rin is scribbled neatly down the side of his cup.

“How did you...?”

You awkwardly shift in your spot, evidently embarrassed as you fiddle with the strings of your apron. Then, with your own hands.

“W-Well…”

His eyes dare to drop down to where your thumb is nervously slathering up and down the name on your pinky.

“Oh.”

"Sorry, I just figured—"

"It's fine," he interrupts. Your mouth snaps shut.

Tense silence stretches thin in the air, ready to shatter at any moment. But for some reason, he feels as though he's choking on nothing.

You fumble over the emptiness, quickly snatching up the cup to make his drink yourself after deciding it's too awkward to just stand there.

He watches you in a daze, half shaken and half in awe. Never in a million years would he have thought a dream would lead him back to you.

When you turn back around with a full cup, you look equally stunned.

“Itoshi—”

“Rin. It’s just Rin.”

You look at him in surprise, lashes fluttering rapidly as you let it sink in.

It's not your fault. You don't know that it's a sore spot that he just so happens to share the same last name with the person he despises most in the world.

It's not your fault that he has a quick temper and his voice raises slightly, enough to make you flinch back just a tiny bit.

And it's definitely not your fault that it stings so much—that he had expected you to speak to him as if you'd already known him for a lifetime and not as if you were just two strangers looking at each other from across a bar counter.

“O-Okay," you take a deep breath, cheeks puffed out and expression unreadable.

You slide the cup across the counter and he catches it in his hand.

He debates whether or not he should say more, like apologize for snapping at you. But then someone calls you by your name, and the way it rolls so beautifully off their tongue catches him off guard.

"Sorry. See you, Rin," you smile sweetly. Maybe a little awkwardly, a small step toward the one he dreamed about. And his heart is set in motion.

Rin decides that today won't be the day.

Another day, he'll be brave enough to crack a joke so dry that you try and scrub his name off your skin. And another day, he will ask for your number because, yeah, you might be the most alluring person he's ever met.

As he turns to take his leave after just staring at the spot you were standing in for a solid few seconds, he can hear some of the other baristas clamouring for you.

He doesn't want to look. Really, honestly, he doesn't.

But he does anyway.

It's just a quick glance over his shoulder—nothing more than a fleeting moment as he takes the chance to look at you one more time.

Those two seconds is all it takes for him to realize just how much trouble he's in.

You're laughing big and toothy, waving your hand in front of your face dismissively as your coworkers poke fun at how flustered you are. Then your hands are clasped over your stomach and you've doubled down a little in your awkward fit.

His heart has never beat so loud in his own ears.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Itoshi Rin used to smile just for the sake of smiling, once upon a time.

He had aunties who would pinch him by the cheek and fawn over him, cooing about how he looked just like his mother. How his face would cherub and the apples of his cheeks were bright red. Even when he grew out of his baby face, people would tell him how wonderful his smile was.

Sae rarely ever smiled, so it was something exclusive. He never felt like he was standing in his shadow. It was special—the kind of praise only one Itoshi would know.

Rin has forgotten how to smile like that.

He smiles to be polite to his family, if ever. Even then, it's not like he owes them that much. At some point, it became too much effort. And he had no reason to do it.

It was always a tiny thought bothering him in the back of his mind:

I'll never meet my soulmate if I'm always scowling like this.

He thought that was what he wanted, anyway. He wouldn't need to worry about running into his soulmate if no one ever looked his way. If everyone feared him enough not to spare him a second glance.

He doubts everything he ever thought as he sits on the edge of his bed staring at his desk.

It's lit up by a single lamp, shining down on his empty coffee cup like a spotlight opened up by the heavens themselves.

Your phone number is written just below his name.

Rin had almost tossed it into the trash without a second thought earlier in the day. He would have, if it weren't for the loose dog that blitzed by him and made him drop it.

Fate just loves to mess with him.

He picked it up and his thumb had stopped over the number. It was written so small, as if you had wanted him to miss it. Or perhaps you wanted to test destiny yourself—to see if the planets would align and he would discover your seven digits there for him to find.

And now he's home. He's been home, just looking. Contemplating. Stressing.

He migrates from the edge of the bed and settles into his desk chair. Then he gets up, moves back to the bed, and flops down. An endless cycle, back and forth, pushing and pulling.

Rin plops down onto his desk seat and sighs in frustration, ruffling his hair around before his forehead slams into the table.

Every part of his mind screams at him to stop. To toss the cup away and forget today ever happened. His head raises from his arms and he stares at the set of numbers illuminated on the paper, taunting him.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, sitting up straight and reaching for the cup to toss. His fingers delicately brush along your phone number.

“So dumb…” He huffs, eventually finding his phone instead and opening his contacts.

It’s nearly midnight. He tries to imagine your face as you wait by your phone for a message from him, that stupidly hopeful glimmer in your eyes, and he feels sick to his stomach as he sends it.

Rin: hey. it’s rin.

He throws his phone down on the desk again, screen down so he can’t cringe at himself. A few minutes pass in complete silence as he sulks.

He considers that you may have gone to bed already, or you were offended by the fact that he ignored your offer to connect all day and instantly blocked him. Maybe you thought he never saw your number at all.

Then his phone buzzes. His body moves on autopilot, snatching it up faster than he can realize what he’s doing. He’s halfway through the embarrassing thought that he just immediately read your message after you sent it as your text sinks in.

Unknown: hi! it’s great to hear from you ヾ(〃^∇^)ﾉ

Unknown: i was starting to think you were never gonna text lol

Rin: i wasn’t

He chews his lip for a moment before quickly following up:

Rin: but i changed my mind. just cause.

Unknown: hahaha got it got it. ‘just cause’ (˘◡˘)

Unknown: rin

Unknown: wait nvm

Unknown: whatever

Unknown: rin

Rin: what

Unknown: let’s get coffee ^ ^

He stares at the screen in disbelief, watching the typing bubble pop up and disappear again and again. He can imagine again what kind of smile you must have on your face right now, or maybe you look flustered, or maybe this all means nothing to you at all and this is your way of being polite.

Regardless of the reason, he eventually types out his response.

Rin: ok

Christ, he’s so tepid.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2020

He comes to memorize every part of you, like how the sun kisses the horizon and the moon knows the tides.

Intimately, almost—if he didn’t overthink the way your touch lingered on him he could easily ignore the way it made his heart pound in his ears.

Rin learns the feeling of your fingers against his skin as you compress an ice pack to his knee. He knows your laugh—can pick apart sarcasm from genuine cheer unlike most other people he encounters. He’s never been good at reading people yet for some reason you’ve become an open book for him.

It’s not fair that you’ve ensnared him this way, that he can’t seem to run from you (because his favourite coffee is from your café and he can’t be bothered to find a new place). That he finds himself instinctively reaching over to his phone when he can’t sleep (he has to make sure his alarms are on, might as well text you goodnight while he’s at it). And you’ve become annoyingly comfortable (he doesn’t have an excuse for this one—your lap is just conveniently a very nice place to rest his head).

He must be an open book, too.

At some point he probably stopped trying to hide his growing feelings for you, though you either didn’t notice his sudden shift or you didn’t care.

Vulnerability has never been a part of Rin, even before Itoshi Sae ruined his life.

He despises how you so easily pry him apart, skinning him alive with your hand lathering down his chest as you laugh.

Still, he’s grown accustomed to your fingers stringing through his hair, to the way your head tilts when he explains football plays to you, to the obvious way you fluster when he attempts (poorly) at flirting with you.

He’s gotten especially fond of the way you meet him at the end of his practices with such sweet, wandering hands—pushing the hair stuck to his forehead from sweat away from his eyes; using a towel to wipe up his neck; the squeeze you give his palms as you examine them to see if there are any new cuts and bruises.

Usually, he’s the epitome of confidence in his plays. Today, however, his cheeks burn as you approach him with the same honeyed smile.

“My shots were shoddy,” he admits before you can even get a word out. You only raise a brow, hands faltering in front of you. “That was lame.”

“I think you’re good.”

“Good,” he frowns. “But not great?”

“The greatest,” you quickly correct yourself, smiling at his cravings for praise. You’re armed with a fresh towel like you always are, reaching up to clean his face as if it’s the only thing you were born to do.

He relishes in your gentle touch, peering at you through his lashes while you prattle on about how amazing he was even though he missed half of his shots.

You were so blindly supportive, it sickens him.

Not because he felt you were being disingenuous, but because he’s not deserving of your praise.

For the first time in a long time, it feels as though his soul is disconnected from his body. He used to walk the earth this way—uninterested in his surroundings and obsessed with only one thing.

Itoshi Sae. Itoshi Sae. Itoshi Sae.

Suddenly, he’s thirteen again and gasping for air; screaming into his pillow and trashing their shared awards until his mother comes rushing in to stop him. He’s alone in a field, abandoned and crushed.

It’s not like he’d never lost before, even in front of you. Loss was just a part of football as much as he hated it.

But your praise only makes his stomach turn, because he knows you mean it.

You truly do believe he’s the best, when really he’s been futile in his attempts to catch up with the big brother he admired so much as a kid.

“Stop,” he gently interrupts.

Rin tries to use his hair to hide the wetness of his eyes, with little success. You can see right through him, unfortunately. It’s a talent he wishes you didn’t have.

“Rin?” You say softly, reaching up to brush the hair out of the way. He doesn’t try and back up or swat your hand away, instead letting you see his miserable expression. You sigh quietly, looking more exasperated than surprised.

“Sorry,” he mutters halfheartedly.

You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Shame boils in his stomach at your reassurance. There is something to apologize for. Here you are, supporting him with all your heart, and all he can think about is his stupid brother. How he’ll never catch up. How he’ll never be good enough.

Doesn’t your kindness warrant his attention at the very least?

“Come on,” you tug at his hand. “Let’s get you a pick-me-up.”

Rin abides silently, body following yours off the field and onto the streets though his mind has floated off elsewhere.

He tries to count how many steps you take in between the field and the destination, but loses count somewhere around three hundred. Then he moves on to counting the hairs on the back of your head. He loses count at one hundred. Eventually, he gives up and opts for staring at your conjoined hands while he lags behind.

When you come to a halt, he nearly bumps into your back.

The ringing in his ears stops as he blinks at his surroundings. Waves crash against the shore of the sandbank, singing the song of the ocean. It had been so long since Rin walked down this stretch of the shore, he almost forgot what the sea looked like.

“Wait here,” you urge as you hold him by the shoulders then disappear around the corner.

He collapses at the wall separating land from sea, swinging his legs under the railings to sit comfortably as he remembers doing when he was a kid. His gym bag is abandoned behind him, cleats and all.

When you return, you shove a popsicle into his hand.

He’s confused at first, just looking absently at the packaging. It must be for a concerning amount of time, because you eventually pipe up.

“Do you need me to open it for you?”

Rin glares at you and your teasing smile. Carefully, he unpackages the treat and pops it in his mouth.

Sweetness melts over his tongue and he exhales sharply through his nose. You watch him in amusement with your own treat stuck in your mouth.

Silence engulfs you, eating Rin from the inside out until he feels ill. He holds his half-eaten popsicle in front of him, watching it melt down his hand.

You stare at him for a second before nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“I was being serious. You were really good. I can’t even imagine playing like you do.”

Rin’s stomach turns. The last thing he wants is your pity.

“You don’t have to be so nice,” he mumbles, resting his chin on the railing. “42 percent.”

“42 percent?” You echo, peering over the railing to get a better look at his face.

“The percent of shots I made today.”

“Come on,” you urge gently. “Aren’t you being too hard on yourself?”

“If I’m not hard on myself, I’ll never—” he stops, choking lightly on his spit. When you don’t interrupt, he shoves the popsicle back in his mouth. “Whatever. You wouldn't get it.”

It’s quiet again, save for the crashing of waves upon rock. Rin thinks for a moment that maybe he had gone too far, or that his little meltdown had freaked you out.

But when he finally dares to look at you again, you’re smiling.

“Maybe not,” you admit with a whisper. “But I do know this…” You reach over and cup his cheek with your free hand, thumb sweeping the expanse of his cheek soothingly. “There is no one—and I mean no one—who works harder than you do.”

He swallows thickly, subconsciously nudging his face a little further into your palm.

“You deserve to be a little kinder to yourself.”

The way his heart catches in his throat is strange. He can’t describe it. The warmth in his belly is foreign, but it’s pleasant.

For the first time in the year he’s gotten to know you, the thought crosses his mind:

I think I’m in love with you.

Rin’s mouth opens with the idea, but he forces it shut just as fast.

Fear grips his lungs and squeezes, stealing his air and forcing him to pull away from your touch.

“Okay,” he breathes in resignation.

You seem stunned by his sudden retreat, smile faltering ever so slightly. But you recover quickly, hugging yourself as you slouch over the railing.

Conversation moves on just like that. He appreciated that about you, too. He never had to dwell.

It feels nice, everything about this; to have his legs dangling over the edge of the cement, feet barely ghosting over the surface of the water; to have a popsicle melting between his teeth while he listens to you talk.

For some reason, it feels as though he’s reclaiming lost time, reliving a moment he thought he would never have again.

When he checks his popsicle stick, it tells him he’s a winner for the first time since he was thirteen.

(He finally allows himself to believe it when your knee gently knocks into his.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2021

“Frog cotton candy?”

“Frog shaped cotton candy,” Rin corrects, peering around the giant fluff of candy to look at you quizzically.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “But why?”

He grumbles quietly, cheeks a soft shade of pink as he shoves the treat into your hands.

“I thought you’d like it. Nevermind,” he deadpans, turning around to toss it into the garbage.

Your laugh crescendos and he feels his heart squeeze with affection. When your hand stops him by the forearm, he thinks he might explode.

“It’s cute.”

You pick apart the floss ruthlessly with your fingers, and he watches almost in a trance—hypnotized by just your existence.

(When you finally pop the sugar into your mouth, he imagines it melting on his own tongue. The thought makes him unbearably warm and he forces it away.)

His fascination with you doesn't end there.

There's a certain charm to you that he can't understand—something that draws him in, tantalizing but terrifying at the same time.

He can't help the way he watches in a daze, the way you've ensnared all his attention and taken up the space in his mind.

Rin has never been good at being kind, but here he is.

Here he is, bringing you cotton candy because he thought it was stupid but cute.

Here he is, rolling up the sleeves of your yukata with a gentle scolding when you rush over to catch goldfish.

And here he is, letting you cling to his arm as if he's the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

He really, really hates it—how mushy you make his brain feel.

He's halfway through re-rolling your sleeves with a half-hearted scowl on his face when you stop him, hand pressed to his forearm.

“Listen, Rin.”

“Hm?” He leans down so that he can peer at your face hidden behind your almost nonexistent candy floss.

“I have to show you something.”

Rin stops dead in his tracks, raising a brow as he fully turns toward you. “What is it?”

“Can you close your eyes for me?”

His heart does a somersault in his chest. “You’re not doing anything weird, are you?”

“Who do you think I am?” You sputter.

He lets out a long sigh before complying, squeezing his eyes shut. After a long silence, he considers peeking a little bit.

That is, until he feels your breath gently fanning over his parted lips.

Nearly leaping back, he wills himself to stay grounded and slowly slides his hands up your arms until he gets to your shoulders. As he imagined, your body is impossibly close to his.

It takes every bit of concentration he has not to waver. If he really tries, he can focus on how your breath smells sweet of candy. How your hair blows softly with the summer breeze, tickling his cheeks. How you smell. How you breathe.

(Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His heart is about to beat out of his chest. Is that okay?)

You tense up in his hold and suddenly you’re retreating from him, swiftly pulling out of his arms. Just as he’s about to ask you what happened, there’s a piece of candy shoved into his mouth.

“You wanted to try it, didn’t you?” You ask rather breathlessly. He opens his eyes, looking at you curiously.

Rin has never seen this expression on you before, lips pulled tight in embarrassment and pupils blown. You look more like a wild animal caught in a cage than someone who just made a move on him.

He gingerly takes the empty paper cone from your hands and folds it up, no longer able to meet your gaze lest he explode on the spot.

“Yeah,” he says softly, shuffling over to dump it into a bin. “Thanks.”

When he turns around to look at you again, his breath gets caught in his throat.

Why are you laughing?

You giggle into your palm, hiding your gleeful smile from him as you double over slightly.

“Your face is all red!” You holler.

He grunts in embarrassment, using the back of his hand to hide his own face. “Shut the hell up,” he spits.

“It’s almost like you wanted me to kiss you!”

“Oh my god, please drop it.”

“No way! I’ve never seen you look like that before!”

(‘Speak for yourself,’ he thinks.)

“So what if I did?”

Your laughter halts as if it was swallowed into the pits of your stomach. Slowly unraveling to stand up straight, he sees another expression he’s never been able to imagine on you, but he can’t quite place it.

“Did what?” You murmur.

“Want you to kiss me.”

Your face is warm under the glow of lanterns, eyes shimmering with the overhead lights. Rin watches your mouth open and close repeatedly as you try and formulate some sort of response.

A firework explodes atop of you, and he wonders if it just saved you.

You seem jarred for only a moment more until you jolt, grabbing him roughly by the arm and giving him a pull.

“I just remembered,” you gasp. “I actually did have something to show you!”

Rin doesn’t get a word in before you’re dragging him along by the arm. With each boom of an explosion, your footsteps pick up, building into a full blown sprint out of the festival grounds and through the thicket.

You tug him along, guiding him by the hand through the winding path of trees and logs. His stamina is better than yours but you’re pushing up the hill despite your huffing and puffing—it makes him laugh with you.

When you break free of the forest, Rin’s eyes focus on a field of plush grass and buttercups.

You let go of his hand, flinging yourself forward and spinning on your heel to exaggerate how wide the opening is with your arms.

“Isn’t it great?” You shout over the fireworks. “Away from the crowd!”

He rushes up to you so that you can stop yelling, invading your personal space until you can hear him just at his normal volume.

“It’s perfect,” he tells you earnestly.

You grin up at him widely before pulling him along to the edge of the clearing. You plop down together, eyes glued to the sky as the fireworks rage on.

Rin only lasts a few seconds before his eyes drift to the side, trying to drink in your expression. It’s become a habit of his to try and imprint your very existence into his brain.

Against his better judgment, his hand creeps toward yours until your fingers are overlapped.

Thankfully, you don’t use the opportunity to tease him about it, instead shifting a little closer until you’re practically burrowed into his side. If it were anyone else, he would have shoved them away.

(When did he stop trying to push you away?)

When your pinkies slowly close together, he feels as if he can’t breathe properly.

Mark-to-mark, it’s as though he is full of all the love he’s ever felt for you from every life—past or future. Like there’s a love that exists within him that transcends lifetimes, if it were even possible.

If he were to peer into another dimension, would you still be together like this? Would you be plucking buttercups and mindlessly twirling them between your fingers? Would he be itching to envelop you in his arms just to devour you?

His thoughts cease when you take a deep breath.

“I used to come here alone,” you admit.

“No one took you?” He asks. Your gaze is piercing the night sky, never leaving the show. He can see the bloom of colours in them.

“Not since I was little, but I always loved it here.”

The question burns hot in Rin’s mind: even if it was a little lonely sometimes?

He remembers back to the night that he first saw you, with your hands dipping into the murky waters of a frog pond and an air of desolation surrounding you. Then he remembers how he couldn’t sleep that night. Not with the image of you crouching there alone burned into his memory.

“Did you know this festival is a celebration of love?” He suddenly asks.

Oh what the fuck? Oh, god. Why did he say that?

That was so lukewarm of him. So stupid. So pointless and lame.

He just wanted something to say to you, something that would make him stop thinking about how you might have been alone for all that time before you knew him.

The silence burns between you, tense and awkward until he starts stuttering out something else to fill the void. But then you look at him, slow and intrigued and so damn amused that he can feel heat rising to the tips of his ears.

“I had no idea.”

There’s a longing in your expression that tells a different story. A twitch of your pinky against his that gives away your blatant lie.

And, damnit. Here he is again, four years later under the same stars. Under the same fireworks. Only this time, he’s able to see your face even closer as it lights up a million different colours—teal like his eyes; rose like his cheeks; golden like the heart he’s tried so hard to protect.

Four years later and he still thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen: pinkies interlocked, sheepish smile on your face, an undeniable shake in your voice that means you have more that you’re too nervous to say.

For a moment he considers finally letting go of all the things keeping him bolted and chained where he stands, swallowing the key to the cage surrounding his fragile, thumping heart. And for that fleeting second, he feels as though he’s the bravest man alive—that nothing could stop him even if you were to turn away and snub him out with the heel of your foot.

But how could he open his mouth and tell you anything when all he feels is the sick twisting of his stomach, the daunting glare of the older brother he adored so much, and the coldness of snow soaking his clothes as he sits in a field and cries?

There’s a burning, raging fire within him. Something primal and afraid and unchanging despite how much he wants to fall into your arms the way your shared etchings say he should.

It screams at him: run away. Run. Run. Run. This will only end in hurt.

He’s too fucked up. Too messed in the head and too quick to anger because he’s actually soft at heart, easy to betray—

“Rin.”

Your hand swiftly captures his face and he’s dragged unceremoniously out of his reverie.

Of course you would be able to pick out his turmoil by expression alone. By the droop of his lips into a frown—not the annoyed one he would flash his teammates, or the grimace he would scare children away with. The kind that’s sad and slow and timid, like an animal caught in a net.

“I’m really happy that we’re friends.”

“Friends?” He breathes, half confused and half incredulous.

Deep down he knows that it’s an attempt to comfort him without being too sappy. Maybe you can sense it somewhere in your soul that he would probably break down and sob if you were to make him feel any more vulnerable than he already is with you. It’s an effort to take away whatever guilt he feels and give him a chance to relax.

However, he can see a different tale in your eyes.

Loneliness as empty as the sky on a cloudy night. A yearning for more, for someone, for him, to fill the gap. I’m tired of waiting. That’s all he can read beneath the sea of colour exploding in your irises.

It only makes him feel worse, but he allows himself to be lied to anyway if only to feel the warmth of your skin against his just a bit longer.

“Yeah.”

Your pinky twitches again. He can feel the brush of your name against his, the grate of your matching soul marks. Your eyes tear away from his and are glued to the infinite sky above once more. To the stars you know are there but are covered by smoke and fire.

Rin only stares at you. He can’t focus on the explosions of fireworks anymore, not when you’re right in front of him looking so perfect. His summer treasure.

“Yeah?”

He knows he sounds dumb, repeating everything like an oaf who can’t fathom what’s being said. You giggle and it floors him.

“Just being able to stand here with you—” you glance at him again, only for a second. He can see the exhaustion in that moment, but he’s too selfish to pry. “—I think I’m the luckiest person alive.”

“Even if…” He swallows harshly. It feels like shrapnel cutting down his throat. “Even if I can’t be more?”

“Even so.”

There’s a pause and you open your mouth to say more, maybe to give him an ultimatum or to elaborate on your feelings, but then you’re interrupted by the end of the display.

Counteless fireworks explode above you in the finale. Rin can hear the awestruck gasps of families down the hill, the distant cries of children and the faint shutter of cameras filling the air.

He realizes then: he’s been smiling. His cheeks hurt from how big it’s gotten. And you’re smiling at him, too.

(The fireworks rage on, but in the end, all he can look at is you.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2022

Falling in love with Itoshi Rin was one of the most foolish, most wonderful things that could have happened to you.

He was an enigma in and of itself, a mystery of a soulmate who was able to love you wholeheartedly and push you away at the same time.

There were nights where you would stay up wondering why he was your soulmate when it seemed like all he wanted to be was alone. Other times, you fell asleep smiling to yourself knowing that somewhere deep down you both belonged to each other.

The universe chose you. The universe chose him. It was indisputable, yet you still had doubts.

Tonight is one of those “foolish” nights. It seems as though you have been stood up.

For three hours you’ve waited in the same spot at the gates of the festival, watching families and couples pass by but never the one person you’d wait until the end of the world for. The sun has long since gone to sleep over the horizon and the streets are fully lit up with lanterns for the festivities.

6 pm. That was the time Rin promised he would meet you. In the past, he was always late but at least had the decency to tell you beforehand that you could go ahead without him. Only when you arrived and sat down to wait for him had he finally messaged you.

Rin: gonna be late. see you at 7.

7 pm. That was the rescheduled time. It was when you expected to see him walking up to you in his yukata that you begged him to wear this year, matching adoringly with yours. And at 7 pm you would tell him. You would tell him everything.

For months prior you had practiced almost pathetically so, recited and perfected your speech while staring at your reflection in a mirror. You’d written him a letter, too.

7 pm. You were finally going to thank Rin for everything. For accompanying you to such a silly festival even though you know he loathes it. For meeting you under the stars and the moon and the fireworks time and time again. For bringing life back into a childhood memory that you had long since hated.

7 pm. You were going to tell him thank you. You were going to tell him you loved him, just as it had been written in the stars many years before you were born.

It’s 9 pm, nearing 10 and the start of the fireworks show. He missed the entire night without explanation.

At 9:58 pm, just as you’re about to give up all hope, you finally come face to face with teal eyes and a stupidly handsome face sheen with sweat. It shouldn’t hurt so much, the way he looks at you so dismissively as if he hadn’t blown you off all night.

“Sorry,” he mutters disingenuously, attempting to brush past you without a second thought. “Let’s go, I’m thirsty.”

He has his gym bag slung over his shoulder and a windbreaker over his uniform. No sign of the yukata you had picked out for him to wear.

You don’t follow him, staring at his back in disbelief. When he realizes you aren’t trailing behind, he turns on his heel and raises a brow in question. “Are you coming?”

“I was waiting for you all night,” you tell him coldly. I was waiting for you all this time and you never showed up.

He swallows thickly, suddenly overcome by guilt because of your downcast expression. “I know. I lost track of time.”

“Lost track of time?” You scoff incredulously. Your mouth opens as if you have more to say, but you’re interrupted by a bang.

Rin’s eyes flutter closed. He can’t listen to this. He can’t watch.

He knows this all too well. He knew it all along.

The universe was wrong. Itoshi Rin was never cut out to be someone’s soulmate.

“We’re missing it…”

Your back is turned to him but all he can imagine is the terrible expression you must be making right now, twisted in sadness and anger. The worse image is a completely blank face—unfeeling and cold. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

Booms echo in the distance yet all he can focus on is the faint hum in his ears, the horrible churning in his stomach and the fog of guilt clouding his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that he’s sure you can’t even hear him under the deep, bellowing explosions over the horizon.

He doesn’t remember the last time he apologized for anything like this. Being cold and aloof was just in his nature. Never before had he felt like it was necessary to be remorseful for the way he is—for how he was made to be.

The slight tremble of your shoulders and the way you use the back of your sleeves to wipe tears from your eyes force the words out of him before he can stop it. He tells you again,

“I’m sorry.”

He weakly attempts to grab you by the arms, holding you from behind so he can make you look at him. You jerk away fast as lightning, knocking him away as you swivel around to glare.

“Why didn’t you come?” You demand. There’s anger shaking in your voice. Rin doesn’t know how to respond to it, not when you’ve always been so understanding and kind. Perhaps he was too cruel for you if he was going to break you this way.

“I got caught up with—”

“With football, right?” You laugh bitterly, taking a generous step back. Hurt pours from every inch of your expression and all it does is make his heart ache.

“Stop,” he suddenly snaps. You flinch at his tone and shrink back, only adding to his guilt. He always had the worst temper. “Don’t be like this. You know it was important,” he explains, gentler this time. Softer, trying to coax you back over.

There’s a beat of complete silence, save for the hollowed explosions in the distance. Rin blinks at you a couple times before his frayed nerves finally calm again. And then he realizes something terrible.

The look in your eyes, the deflation of your shoulders—this is what utter defeat looks like. For a moment deja vu rushes through his blood, bringing him back to a time when he too felt as miserable as you.

Every year he’s had the opportunity to read your expression: I’m tired of waiting. But he always foolishly assumed you would still wait around for him forever. That your patience would be as infinite as the stars in the sky. That just because he had the privilege of having his name scrawled down your pinky, he would be guaranteed to have you.

It was disgustingly selfish.

Just as he opens his mouth to apologize again, you storm up to him and shove the piece of paper roughly into his chest. With the closed gap, he can clearly see the tears streaming down your face illuminated by warm lanterns.

“Just forget it.”

“Wait—” He catches your wrist as you push past him, stopping you in your tracks again despite your struggle to get away. “Come on, I said I’m sorry!”

“Rin,” you sniffle, voice breaking with just the syllable of his name. It makes him falter. “I’m tired.”

“But—”

“You can’t even spare me one night? Just this one night in the entire year?” You breathe, no longer trying to dance around the subject. “What is it with you? What are you so afraid of?”

Being put in the spotlight never bothered Rin before. It was easy enough to ignore when all his life he was watched carefully. But it’s different with you; you’re the only one looking at him in this moment yet it feels like the weight of a million pairs of eyes at once.

An answer comes quickly to his mind, almost natural. He knows exactly what’s wrong with him.

He’s afraid of being left behind again. Of being hurt. Rin is terrified of love and being loved because he’s too pathetically fragile.

The pieces of his heart are clumsily glued together and he’s scared that even the smallest turbulence would send it shattering into a billion shards again. He doesn’t know how to put himself back together properly anymore.

Itoshi Sae permanently fucked him up.

Though they were on slightly better terms now, the scars would always haunt him. The simple solution is to shut everyone else out, to protect the weak heart he harbours.

If he told you that, would you understand? Or would you try and claw his name off your skin?

You take his silence as an answer and pry away from him again, holding yourself protectively��guarding yourself from the catastrophe that follows Rin wherever he goes.

“Goodbye, Rin.”

He doesn’t watch you go.

The nearest bench becomes his temporary home. He could do hundreds of plays in a football game and never tire, but for some reason your disdain has sucked every ounce of energy from his body.

It doesn’t register that he’s still holding the paper you forced into his hands until it crinkles in his hold. He slowly unfolds it revealing ink sloppily smeared across the page.

And then he reads it. Again. And again. And again, until it’s shaking in his hold. Until the dull ache in his heart feels like the pierce of a knife.

Rin doesn’t know what to do anymore. He’s always had one clear goal for his entire life, but now everything is all muddled. Messy, like everything else he touches.

He turns everything into a disaster.

Does he chase after you and risk having his fragile heart broken all over again? Does he risk being left behind or does he close off the gate for that option entirely? He could sit in his cowardice and never change, preserving his heart forever in this moment of time; a polaroid in the slideshow of his mortality.

There’s a familiarity to this all. Perhaps he had lived through this decision a million lives before this. Maybe he would live through it again an infinite amount of times, so long as it was your name etched into his skin.

Was he as messed up in this life as he was in every other?

If he had ruined everything in this life, if he made the wrong choice and drove you away in hatred until you drew your last breath, then maybe he could make it all up to you in the next one.

Or, if that were the case, maybe he was born into this world only to love you—to make up for the millenia where he ran away.

Rin’s legs have never moved so fast. Not in football. Not even from his brother. If you were the light at the end of the tunnel then he would keep chasing you forever, he thinks. Until his wounded heart gave out.

Of all the stupid decisions he’s made in his life, have any of them amounted to anything? He’s going to give it one last try. One more chance to prove to himself that not everything he touches burns to ashes.

“Wait!”

You visibly startle, eyes wide as you turn to see Rin dashing toward you. He doesn’t give you even a moment to ask questions, to wonder why he’s coming back to break your heart again.

You’re engulfed in a hug faster than you can blink, stumbling back from the force of his body colliding with yours until your sandals get kicked off your feet.

“Rin?” You murmur his name in disbelief, breathless even though you weren’t the one sprinting down the road.

“Just give me one more chance,” he stammers out. You can feel the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders as he holds you and fights for air simultaneously. Your hands twitch at your sides but you remain lifeless in his arms.

He tries again: “Let me prove it to you. Let me prove that it wasn’t some freak accident that led me to you. That my name on your skin is meant to be there.”

“Don’t do this,” you tell him quietly, lips brushing against his ear as you speak. “I don’t want to be loved and feared at the same time.”

“But…” Rin squeezes your body against his, almost desperately. Clinging to what he has ruined. “For once in my life, I want something more.”

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

You hesitantly shift, hands slowly trailing up his back until your body is curling against his. He can trace the outline of your body against his, like a puzzle piece that he was missing slotted perfectly in his grasp.

“I thought my soulmate would only slow me down and break me. I was wrong. I know that now.”

He slowly rocks your bodies back and forth. You pull away until your eyes meet his, red with tears. It’s the messiest he has ever seen you, but his heart refuses to be still. It aches.

Beautiful. It’s the only word he can describe you with. It didn’t matter if you were lit up under the wondrous sky, or handing him coffee in a crowded café, or sobbing in his arms.

You would only ever be his infinitely beautiful soulmate.

It’s the only constant he would have in this life and every other, even if you were to break his heart. It would be the single greatest achievement in his time, above football, above any of his petty competitions—that your name is etched down his pinky.

It scares him. It thrills him.

With the distant roar of fireworks, he kisses you. And you allow him, hiccuping against his lips as you cry.

You stay like that for a long time, listening to the hollow shockwaves of fireworks exploding miles away. He’s the first to draw back, raking in shallow breaths. You chase him, finding solace against his lips once more but not fully indulging him with another kiss.

“Do you fear me?” You whisper into his mouth.

“More than anything,” he tells you.

“Do you love me?”

After a moment of contemplation, he answers,

“More than anything.”

You nod slowly, awkwardly pulling away from him and taking a step back. It’s your first kiss and you don’t know where you’re supposed to look anymore. Rin stops your nervous shifting with his hand swooping under your chin.

“One year. I promise.” You look at him in confusion, so he continues. “Next year, when the season and my contract are over, I’ll meet you there. At the pond.”

You seem skeptical still, with your brows knitted together and a lost haze in your eyes. He raises his pinky, the one with your name forever grafted into the skin, and offers it to you.

“I pinky promise.”

It’s so ridiculous, wearing his heart on his sleeve with something he learned about on playgrounds when he was a child. A pinky promise shouldn’t mean any more than the words he has already spoken. But for some reason, your eyes light up.

He feels nothing but relief when your pinkies lock together.

“Okay,” you breathe.

“You’ll wait for me?”

“Rin.” His name leaves you in a breathless laugh that makes his world spin. It sounds so tired yet so sweet. “I’ve been waiting all my life.”

“I’m sorry,” he says once more for good measure. You nod. A wordless acceptance.

Itoshi Rin is your soulmate. It’s not like that fact will ever change no matter the time, no matter the distance.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2023

Fate is a funny thing. Soulmates are a funny thing.

The universe threw Rin curveball after curveball, beating him down until he was nothing but a husk heavenly built for one purpose only: beat Sae. Beat Itoshi Sae.

There were times when he would lay awake at night wondering why he was given this life, why he was thrust into hardship and hurt and betrayal. How could something so perfect, something so all-knowing, be so cruel?

For as long as the name had been grafted into his skin, he resented the idea of a soulmate.

He hated the idea that only one person in the world would be his eternal weakness. That one day, one person would hold every piece of his soul in their hands. Even then, his soulmate was the other half of him—his salvation. His downfall.

They would know every inch of his skin. Every bleeding wound of his heart. Every bruise and scar along his legs from cleats and nails and gravel. Having a soulmate meant having every part of him exposed, to be judged and worshiped at the same time.

At your hands, though, he’s certain this is what he was born for—to spend the rest of his days by your side even if you were doing something as mundane as catching frogs together.

“You’re scaring them,” you hiss quietly.

Your fingers sink into the pond and Rin watches your reflections ripple as water fills your palms. Your faces contort and meld into one being. In some ways, it’s a familiar feeling—to have been intertwined with you since his very conception.

“You’re terrible at this.”

“It’s your fault!”

“Right,” he deadpans. “You haven’t caught a single one all night.”

“You were late,” you remind him with a huff, cheeks inflated. “Before you got here I was catching frogs all night. Coincidence?”

Rin makes another noise, something akin to a snort. But he doesn’t acknowledge your statement, instead reaching over to gingerly roll the sleeves of your yukata up to your elbows.

“Are you always so sloppy? Your sleeves are getting all wet.”

You glare at him from the side, delivering a deadly warning. “Are you always such a pain in the ass?”

“I get it, I get it. I said I was sorry for being late. Nii-chan really wanted to try that new ice cream place downtown.”

Your gaze drifts to him in the shimmering reflection, watching his smile soften at the mention of his big brother. It was wonderful that they were trying to patch things up.

Sae had decided to come home after all, promising Rin that they would play together again once they both took a well deserved break.

You could tell that Rin was trying his best not to make a big deal out of it, but the way he cried into your shoulder later that night said it all.

“I feel bad having you come all the way out here just to see me. Your brother is back in Japan isn’t he?”

“Yeah. And he wants to meet you.”

You nearly fall over. “What?”

“Please don’t look so starstruck about that. I feel sick.”

Laughing, you recentre yourself, sitting back on your heels with your hands on your knees. “Sorry, sorry! It’s not that…”

Rin raises a brow. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“It’s just—” you fumble, cheeks burning hot at the idea of being introduced to Rin’s family after all these years. Formally, as his partner. His soulmate. The name they had all known since he was thirteen. “What would I even say to him?”

He looks at you in bewilderment. Then, he snickers, only laughing harder when you smack his arm.

“Don’t worry about that,” he assures, reaching out to pat the top of your head. “Just be yourself. My family will love you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, studying your reflections in the water with a soft smile. You’re staring right back at yourself, but Rin is only looking at you.

“I haven’t done anything special.”

“You lit up my world,” you laugh, turning back up to look at him properly. You make a mini explosion with your hands. “Boom! Like that. A firework.”

“You’re too corny,” he murmurs in embarrassment, turning his head away to hide his flushed face. “Can’t you explain it like a normal person?”

“No can do,” you tell him, voice gentler this time. After a pause, you shuffle your sandals around in the mud and take a deep breath. “If you want me to be totally serious…”

You lunge over and tackle him into your arms. He nearly loses his balance holding the both of you upright, stumbling back on his heels before he catches your waist. You don’t seem to share the sentiment of staying pristine, knees digging into the dirt as you squeeze him tighter.

Rin feels his heart catch in his throat the same way you’ve made it for the last six years.

“Thank you. For letting me love you. For being my soulmate.”

His hand is automatically in your hair, scratching your scalp as he smiles into your shoulder.

“I’m sure I gave you nothing but a hard time,” he grumbles.

“But I still love you.”

“Even though you had to wait?”

“Even so.”

“And that I’m a pain in the ass?”

“Even then, I do.”

Rin burrows himself into your neck, hiding his face again. It does a poor job at masking the kind of expression he’s making, though, considering how warm his skin is.

“What if I’m not good enough?”

He feels terrible—guilty that he needs to keep having this conversation with you. But you always comfort him the same way. He hopes you always will.

Drawing his head up with your muddy hands, you dirty his cheeks just to get a glimpse of him. You murmur a half-hearted sorry for making a mess.

Then you’re kissing him.

“I’ll be here to remind you how much I cherish you.”

You nip his bottom lip and he opens wider. You whisper into his mouth,

“And how happy I am that Itoshi Rin was born into this world.”

Itoshi Rin, broken. He who thought that he could never be put back together.

Itoshi Rin, vengeful. He who believed the only happiness that existed for him in this world was to surpass his brother.

Itoshi Rin, who did not believe in his soulmate while staring right at them. And Itoshi Rin, who finally allowed himself to love you wholly, completely, as it was written in the stars.

“I love you,” he says, as if just those three words could encapsulate everything he feels for you.

“Always?” You giggle. He rolls his eyes.

“Wherever you are, and wherever you may be, I will.”

You kiss him one more time for good measure.

“That was corny.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2024

“No peeking.”

Rin folds up his piece of paper and hangs it from the bamboo tree. You’re tugging him along before he can even properly check to see if it’s been secured.

“Come on, I don’t want to miss the fireworks!”

He wouldn’t miss them for the world. You’ve always looked the most beautiful under the brightened summer sky.

The wish he scribbled down blows softly in the breeze as both of you rush by, back to the festival where it all began.

7 July 2024. I wish I had the words to tell you how much I love you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

extra notes. hi! if you made it this far, i'd like to give you the warmest most grateful thank you ever ( ´ ω `)

so, here it is. i've been working on this since last september-ish... for some people that amount of time is not much, but genuinely, i've never devoted so much attention and time to one single fic and i hope i did this one justice. rin has always been a guilty pleasure of mine to write for. i hope this man stays far far away from me until i can stomach even looking at his name again LOL ‾́ ◡ ‾́

also i finally admitted defeat and took out all my pictures and dividers because tumblr was fighting my posts that had any. so... sorry the formatting looks like this

additional tags: @jenoutof10 @hanrinz @itoshiexx lol hi guys it made it out of the drafts i hope you like it

#— whispers in the wind: 1k event ✉️#blue lock x reader #blue lock #blue lock fic #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk fic #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin fluff #rin itoshi fluff

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